Meeting Mr. Garrett

Laurel walked up to Mr. Garrett’s door feeling far less anxious than she had with her first two clients. It’s because I know his marriage is already fucked, she mused. She hadn’t felt any real guilt for screwing a “happily married” man—she figured wives who weren’t trying to keep their men satisfied had no right to complain—but she’d felt anxious about the possibility of getting caught. She was aiming for the Ivy League, and it was a risk/reward calculation. The cost of elite schools made the money worth the risk, but that didn’t make the risk any smaller. It seemed highly unlikely to her, but if she did get caught doing a married man for money, that would be the end of her Ivy League dreams.

I wonder what he’ll be like in bed? If she was honest with herself, Laurel had to admit that her first two clients hadn’t been giving their wives much reason to try to keep them satisfied. One of them would have been just as happy with a blow-up doll or a Fleshlight, as far as she could tell; he just stuck his dick in, thrusted until he came, and rolled off without ever really touching her body or even getting her shirt off. The other had been clumsy and too rough, and not willing to listen to what she wanted. I hope this one gives a fuck about me, like some of Brenda’s clients, she sighed.

She wasn’t worried he’d like her. Brenda had sent him a picture and he’d responded enthusiastically. She’d tried to dress in a way that looked respectable at a distance in case any of the neighbors were watching but revealed her slutty side on a closer look.

She’d settled on a simple white cotton top and old jean shorts. From across the street, suitably modest. At the door, Mr. Garrett would be able to tell that the top was a little too small from the way it pulled tight, tight over her big, squeezable tits. He’d see that the fabric wasn’t opaque and that she wasn’t wearing a bra. He’d be able to see the darker-pink circles of her areolae standing out from her creamy skin. He’d be able to see her sensitive nipples stretching the cotton—they were already growing as her thoughts made her horny—and maybe there would even be a couple little damp spots in the cloth. When she walked past him, he’d see the short, tight shorts shaping her firm round ass as perfectly as if they’d been spray-painted on. She wanted to give him plenty to think about before he came home.

Mr. Garrett opened the door with a smile. His eyes were sad and shadowed despite the smile, but as he looked her up and down, the smile grew hungry and his eyes lit with desire. Then he blinked and waved her inside. “Please, come in, Laurel,” he said softly. “Please excuse my distraction, I have a lot on my mind.”

Laurel could feel his eyes on her ass as she walked through the door. She made sure to give her hips a little extra swing for his viewing pleasure. She turned and Mr. Garrett led her into the house. He was a tall, lean man with close-cropped hair and beard going prematurely silver. He had deep blue eyes and a strong-boned sort of face, and his short sleeves and shorts showed off long, muscular limbs. He moved with remarkable grace, perfectly poised and balanced with no wasted motion. “Are you a dancer, Mr. Garrett?” she asked, curious.

He turned with a fluid suddenness that caught her up short. She blinked in surprise. He looked equally surprised for a moment. “No,” Mr. Garrett said quietly. His face blossomed with a delighted grin. “Actually, I’m a martial artist. I do training of various sorts. I used to do a lot of traveling, especially for movies—that’s why—” His voice broke off. After a moment, he resumed. “I’m not going to be able to do that much anymore unless I hire a live-in nanny, and even then, I want to raise my own daughter. That’s why I have this meeting, I’m going to need clients to come to me mostly from now on.

“I’m saying too much, aren’t I?” he added with wry sadness. “My wife always—well . . . never mind.”

Impulsively, Laurel laid a slim-fingered hand on his forearm. Without seeming to realize it, he covered it with one of his own. “No, Mr. Garrett, you aren’t,” she said gently. “I’m interested.”

His voice a little rough, Mr. Garrett replied, “That’s—thank you, Laurel, I appreciate it.”