A housewife

Holding the door open is a woman in her early thirties. She has very pale skin with fair complexion, and reddish brown hair that tumbles in currently-disheveled curls down around her face to her shoulders. Her fine facial features, fully developed into womanhood but not yet bearing any signs of age, border a graceful neck that swoops into the collar of a blue silk robe, which is cinched around her waist. The robe hangs loosely on her frame, extending almost to the floor, and all the way down to her wrists, except on the arm which is holding open the door. Because her hand is gripping the door at head height, the robe sleeve has slipped down to her elbow, revealing a shapely arm. The neck of the robe hangs somewhat open, offering a hint of cleavage underneath. Though you can not really make out the shape of her body underneath that robe, from what you can see of her neck and forearm, it must be a lovely and shapely one. The woman is perhaps an inch or two taller than you, but standing as she does on the threshold of the door, she practically towers over you.

"Ah," the woman says in a lazy drawl. "My package. I did so hope that it would arrive today." When she talks, she barely moves her lips, and her words have a lazy, deliberate feel to them. The woman gazes levelly down at you, and you can see her eyes flickering up and down you. You realize that from her vantage point, your not-totally-buttoned shirt likely shows her a pretty significant amount of cleavage. The thought intensifies the tingling.

"Well," the woman says, shifting her stance slightly, "shall I sign for the package, or are you just going to hold it and the signature pad in your pretty little arms all day?" The woman smirks, and adds, half under her breath "much prettier arms than I have ever seen on a delivery."

You half gasp at your incompetence, wondering how stupid, naive, and childish you looked, standing there, gaping at her. You step forward to hold up the signature pad to her to take, but catch the toe of your sandal on an uneven ledge between stones on the entryway. Your forward momentum carries your face forward right into the woman's bosom, and with both hands full, one with the package and the other with the clipboard, you are unable to stop yourself from pressing against her body. The woman, startled as well, reaches out her hands to try and catch you, but it all happens to quickly that she can only grip your shoulders, and then is **** to maintain her own balance to keep you both from crashing to her foyer floor. She regains her balance before you, however, and pushes you away slightly, helping you regain your footing.

"That was exciting," the woman mutters, looking more irritated than exciting. "Give me the signature pad, if you please." Her voice quavers slightly, cleared controlled but belying an emotion underneath. Likely, that emotion is anger, you think ruefully. You hold out the clipboard quickly so as not to anger her further. You curse yourself inwardly for botching any chance of seducing this woman before you even had an opportunity to try. Her breasts, through the silk of the robe against your face, felt quite soft and firm, and all that fills your head now is thought of what she would look like without her robe.

The woman scribbles her signature on the pad, but instead of shoving the pad rudely back into your face, she pauses. Her eyes flicker up and down your body again. She chews her lower lip, apparently lost in thought. Suddenly, she steps down to the patio next to you, and leans over slightly to smell at your neck. The movement of air against the side of your neck tickles the small hairs there, which promptly stand all on end, along with a ripple of goosebumps across your body. The woman straightens back up. She is shoeless, but is still perhaps an inch taller than you nonetheless, so she looks slightly down at you as she inquires quietly, "whatever is that lovely perfume that you are wearing?" You open your mouth to reply, but realize that you do not really know. You close your mouth again, knowing that you look foolish, but also knowing that you will look even more foolish if you stand there with your mouth open. The woman studies your face again, running her upper teeth along her lower lip.

"Never mind," she says suddenly. She whirls as she says this, and steps back up into the doorway. She turns, and, standing with her back against the door, hands you the clipboard. "If you would not terribly mind, I would appreciate it if you would bring in the package for me." She inclines her head slightly, indicating for you to step up into the foyer. Holding the clipboard and the package as well as your breath, you do so. As soon as you are through the doorway, the woman steps in with you, and closes the door behind her.