Chapter 2

“You want me to give her a massage?”

“Have you ever done that before?”

“No, but it sounds simple enough. Are you serious about this?”

“That’s why I’m asking. Truth be told, it’s gamesmanship. Clients that are spending a lot of money need to feel special. Sometimes a realtor must show the client that they’re appreciated. This woman has influence, trust me. If you curry favors with her, it’ll be great for your career”

It’s a daunting thought, my hands on Svetlana’s body, her soft skin. She’s tall, thin, with a thick accent which she doesn’t bother to hide. She’s approaching 50, maybe a little older. Everything about her screams high-class and she carries an air of sophistication around her. From what I know, she specializes in the modeling industry, so property like this should be within her wheelhouse.

A sparkle in Henning’s eye lets me know how important this is. Again my focus is on my reputation. The thought of giving someone a massage doesn’t cross the mind of a realtor. Would the women here think less of me now that I’m barefoot? Or if I was giving Svetlana a massage? I throw caution to the wind.

“Sure, I can do it. Anything for a sale, right?”

Henning smiles. “That’s the spirit. I should also advise you that it’s an interesting group of women, you know, very liberal-minded. I probably should have alluded to this beforehand, but I didn’t think it was necessary. Many of them have, shall we say, a European mindset to work and life. I mean that in the best way possible, but it might be different for you.”

Looking into her eyes, it’s hard to gauge what she’s talking about exactly. I’m assuming it’s a reference to European women being more open to touching and showing affection with each other in public.

“Totally understand,” I say. “For the record, I love Europe, I’ve been there a few times.”

She winces a little, then shakes it off, getting back to business.

“Another thing. Are you shaved? I assume you are. You’re always put-together.”

“If we’re talking about the same thing… then yes… I’m shaved there.”

“Give me your panties.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, she just holds her hand out and I feel like a student being scolded by a teacher at a religious school. The power imbalance is that great between us. That imbalance also gives me the sensation of being in heat, something I’ve never felt with her before. We’ve always been strictly professional.

I look around and see the women mingling amongst themselves and having a few drinks. There’s enough privacy between me and Henning that I’m able to reach beneath my skirt, pinch my panties, and slide them off.

Henning takes the panties from my hand, and in a surprise move, she gives them a sniff before putting them in her pocket. My first thought is she wanted to see how I smell, so the client won’t be repulsed. My second thought is that Henning wanted to see if I was aroused, which is kind of unnerving since we’re working a job.

“Smells rosy,” she says. “You’re obviously a bit wet. Don’t worry, I tend to have that effect on women when ordering them around.”

“Never apologize for your sexuality. Be proud of who you are. Consider this a lesson in being a good seller.”

Her comments signal what my role is. I’m a prop now. Eye candy for business women. And my legs and what’s between them are the crown jewel. My accidental arousal is helping the sale because wet pussy is always better than dry pussy. Now it makes sense why Henning was talking about the European lifestyle. I wonder if Svetlana would be able to smell my aroma. She looks like a woman who prefers other women.

I’m left to stand awkwardly and pantyless by the pool while Henning goes back inside to get her friend. A warm, gentle breeze goes up my legs and sends a shiver down my spine. I’ve never been pantyless outside before, risk isn’t my thing. My thing is trying to be respectable for my age.

A few minutes later, my world is about to turn upside down as Henning walks alongside Svetlana to the pool. They’re having a laugh, gossiping, talking about anything except buying this property. Neither of them look at me, I’m not important, yet…

Things get more awkward for me as Svetlana removes her heels and stockings, placing her bare feet on the pavement, lifting her skirt to reveal skinny white legs so she could sit at the edge of the pool and dip her feet in the water.

“… such drama queens,” Svetlana laughs, talking to Ms. Henning. “Can you believe what I have to deal with from those people? Unbelievable.”

Svetlana gets comfortable sitting with her feet in the water — still without acknowledging my presence as I approach — and she tosses her hair to the side to expose her neck and shoulders.

“My neck is stiff from yesterday’s workout,” Svetlana says.

It’s an uncomfortable moment and my attention shifts to Svetlana’s thin white neck. They’re still gossiping amongst themselves, but Henning, my trusted mentor, nods at me, nudging me to proceed with the plan. This is the ‘Plan B’ she had mentioned earlier and apparently the burden falls squarely on my shoulders.

I get behind Svetlana and bend down and put my knees on the pavement. My hands hover for a moment before I gather the bravery to touch Svetlana’s bare skin, my fingers making delicate contact with her neck and shoulders. Her skin is softer than mine, something that comes with age. Her muscles are tense. She twirls her feet in the water as she keeps the conversation going, a conversation that doesn’t include me.

As I work Svetlana’s neck, my eyes glance toward Ms. Henning, who offers an encouraging smile and another nod. I don’t bother to check if anyone is looking at us. Way too embarrassing, though I’m sure there are admirers for what I’m doing.

My knees are pressed together in hopes that everything is concealed. Can she smell my arousal? Will she notice? I’ve never touched a mature woman like this before, nothing beyond a handshake or hug, and it’s having a profound effect on me. This is a form of intimacy. Without any further instructions, I let my hands go lower to Svetlana’s shoulders, the tips of my fingers grazing the top of her chest.

“You can do a little better than that,” Henning says to me.

I’m mortified when she suggests that I get behind Svetlana while continuing the massage, with my feet dipped in the water. This, while my panties are in her pocket. I force a smile, not wanting to start a minor argument in front of potential buyers.

Svetlana keeps ignoring me, which is par for her brand. Their gossip continues.

I position myself right behind Svetlana and my feet glide past her legs. We’re literally an inch apart, from my chest to her back. She never says a word to me, I don’t exist in her world. The women keep talking and I dip my feet in the water, right next to hers, and I’m mindful of not letting my sexual parts touch her clothes. I may have to retire from this business if I leave a wet stain on the back of Svetlana’s outfit and everyone knows about it.

A few moments later, Henning excuses herself to manage the showing, bending down to give Svetlana a kiss on the lips, which happens right in front of me. I see their lips press and I hear the moist sound it makes, their lips pressing for more than a second. They’ve definitely done this before and it happens with ease.

We’re alone and I keep massaging her neck and shoulder area, expecting her to tell me to stop, but that never happens. She still doesn’t say anything to me, she just twirls her feet in the water and enjoys my hands on her body. The truth is, a part of me enjoys touching her, despite the other women watching this happen. And I know for a fact that we’re being watched because I can see them in the corner of my eye.

“How long have you been in real estate, girl?”

What’s funny is that it’s not entirely clear that she’s talking to me. It’s like she’s talking on an earpiece to someone else, using a formal tone like it’s an interview. Her eyes are looking down into the pool as she twirls her toes and I wonder if she’s also looking at my feet.

“About two years. I love it.”

“How long have you been with this firm?” she asks.

“Almost my entire career. My father does a lot of work with Marielle and a few strings were pulled, so here I am.”

Being the product of nepotism is often uncomfortable for me because it implies that I don’t work hard. The reality is that I work harder than most people my age and I hope Svetlana sees that. She doesn’t seem to judge me, she just gives a gentle, “Ahh,’ in response. I’m sure in her world she understands how important connections are.

“You’re good at this, your hands, I mean. Have you done it before?”

“No, you’re literally the first,” I say.

As tired as my hands are becoming, a genuine compliment from a commanding woman like Svetlana reinvigorates me and I squeeze a little harder on the tense spots in her neck and shoulder. Her compliment pushes away the shame of other women seeing this happen.

“I’m not wearing a bra under my blazer jacket. Do you mind, girl?”

From my vantage point behind her, I look at her face, wondering if she means what I think she means. She appears casual, serious, her eyes still focus on her toes in the water and my feet next to hers.

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“Nipples don’t bite.”

Her comment sends a tingle between my legs. Nipples? Did she really just say that? There are a few women around the pool, some gossiping amongst themselves with a drink in hand, some taking an inspection of the property, a few glances in this direction. I can see Henning inside the property, working her magic to potential buyers.

I’d be mortified to be seen with my hand there, but I refuse to disappoint a respectable woman, much less a friend of Henning.

My hand slips beneath her thin blazer. She’s right, no bra. My head rests against her back in a tender way because it’s better than having to look at other women while I’m doing this. My hand drifts lower, her breast is so soft, I can tell they sag at her age. They’re not firm or perky like mine.

That’s not an insult, by the way, I happen to love the appearance of mature women and I adore them. I just never thought I’d be touching a boob in a professional setting.

It’s euphoric when my finger grazes across her nipple. A touch at first. Then I’m enveloped in a whirlwind of sensations, a mixture of public humiliation and sexual perversion. It’s a mindfuck of a combination, to be honest. As my finger lingers, a charged tension hangs in the air, like the hushed anticipation before a storm. And there most certainly is a storm brewing. Women like Svetlana always expect the finest treatment.

Her nipple is like a small raspberry in terms of shape and texture. I could look over and peer at her breasts if I wanted to, but I don’t want to be rude. I wasn’t given permission to look. I can imagine the color, she looks like a white woman with a bright pink nipple, maybe even a little red. It makes me wet to think about, and to feel her nipple between my fingers, this time I don’t care if my wetness touches her clothes and leaves a stain. If I leave a wet mark on her, that’s her fault.