Loss of Amateur Status Pt. 01

Ties. I never liked wearing them. This was the reason, I told myself, that this newly minted twenty two year old commerce graduate was not applying for any of the jobs everyone thought he should be applying for. In actual fact, I liked my lifestyle at the moment. Free from the demands of university, I had turned to the working lifestyle that I had used to support myself while studying for my degree. I had done an informal apprenticeship with a family friend who had taught me how to lay tiles, and more specifically, slate flooring and now, by working three or four days a week as a self-employed tiler, I could maintain a relaxed and enjoyable, if not lavish, style of living. I was an avid surfer and was in the water at least three days a week or more depending on the surf. Being my own boss afforded me the flexibility to suit myself.

The current job I was working on was a patio of about 25 square yards. It was a bigger job than I normally took on but I was thinking about some bills I had coming up. The client was a Ms. Satterthwaite who was a prominent local realtor. I had seen her image on a number of advertising hoardings around the city. She was not married and as far as I knew, had never been. She lived in an upmarket condominium in a fashionable part of the city

From the beginning I was dubious about Ms. Satterthwaite. She was aloof, cold and very demanding. I just kept my head down and got on with the patio and hoped that she would be out for most of the time I was working. No such luck. I don't think she trusted me to be left alone around her home so she was always popping in and out. At times I almost felt stalked. I had allowed four days to complete the job and after day three on the Friday, things were progressing satisfactorily. I should comfortably complete the job in one more day.

This weekend there was a music festival up the coast at a popular beach so some friends and I had decided to make the trip. On the Sunday a friend and I decided to stay on. The weather was good and the forecast was for good surf. I was expected at Ms. Satterthwaite's on the Monday but I felt no particular loyalty to her. I left her a voice mail saying that something has come up and I would be back on Wednesday to finish up. She tried ringing me several times but I knew her number and didn't reply.

It was actually the Thursday that saw me back at her place. I was a little thankful that she was out to be honest. I went to work and finished off the job relatively quickly. I had just finished tidying up and was loading my tools back into my truck when she arrived. Now I could understand that she might be a little pissed that I had gone AWOL but I had now finished the job.

I'll take this time to more fully describe Ms. Satterthwaite. Age wise, I would say she was early to mid-forties. She was certainly well preserved. Height was about five foot six and quite slim although, if I had to be picky, I would say there was probably a little too much sand in the bottom of the hour glass. She was just a little on the beamy side around the hips. There was an agreeable bosom that I would describe as generous without being substantial. I did have occasion to admire her legs. I think the phrase "well-turned" describes them nicely. Her seemingly flawless skin was heading towards olive in tone. Maybe I could describe the hue as Kardashian. She had facial features that were quite regal if a little austere. That pointed little nose was always held a little too close to the ceiling for me but that describes her attitude more than her appearance. Handsome rather than beautiful would be my judgement. She had salt and pepper hair cut rather short which suited her well. Today she was wearing a short sleeved, silky blouse and a tweed, knee length skirt that drew my eyes down to her smooth, shapely lower legs.

In all, she was a very fetching woman who would have been used to her fair share of male attention. Unfortunately, this probably only exacerbated her superior and haughty attitude. From my perspective it was all a very academic assessment. She looked down on me as if I was some form of inferior life that had to be tolerated only because she needed my menial skills. Criticism and complaint were the only channels of communication she used with me. While attracted to her, I knew the chances of her lowering her panties for me ranked up there with the likelihood of me beating Usain Bolt at the next Olympics.

Anyway, now that she had returned home, I was expecting her to be a bit caustic. Given that I had disappeared for three days and not returned her calls I could accept that. Still, I had completed the job to a very good standard, at a good price and had even cleaned up afterwards. How angry could she be?

When I saw the look on her face I realized she could be plenty angry. The word livid springs to mind. She marched towards me and started to rebuke and reprimand me. Apparently I was the most irresponsible, incompetent, insolent peasant that the world had ever seen. All during this tirade she was slowly but steadily advancing towards me. I was back pedaling until I bumped into the wall of her garage. Her finger went from wagging at me to pointing. She thrust a bony finger into my chest and continued to tell me what an irresponsible lowlife I was. She then started jabbing the finger.

Breaking point had been reached. I could no longer quietly absorb her harangue.

"You are such a bitch," I growled. Her eyes widened and then narrowed with a steely look of determination. As if in slow motion her right hand came back and I was startled to realize she was going to strike me. Her palm was open so it looked like it was an in-coming slap. It was easy to raise my hand and catch her wrist as her arm swung toward me. Now it her turn to be startled but it did not make her any less determined. Her other hand drew back for another shot and it was even easier to catch this attempted blow. I now had her by the wrists, both arms out stretched. This had involuntarily brought our bodies together. She was struggling against my grip but I was reluctant to let her go. She had rather fearsome looking finger nails and I had a hunch they would be heading toward my face if I released her.

I couldn't help it but her squirming against me was washing her respectably sized bosom across my chest and her stomach was applying pressure in a sensitive area. My body betrayed me and I almost instantly developed a solid erection. I think she suddenly became aware of my arousal and slowed her gyrations. She had gone from struggling to be released to trying to use her belly to investigate what had materialized in my shorts. She looked at me with a puzzled expression on her face. I slowly lowered her arms and held them behind her back while still holding her wrists. I pulled her towards me with a thrust like motion that ground my cock into her lower stomach. She gulped. I lowered my head towards her. She flinched but could not really move away. I brushed my lips against her neck and inhaled the fragrance of what I assumed was an expensive perfume.

Part of me was turned on and part of me was angry. I moved my mouth to her ear and whispered..."What you need is... a good... hard... deep... fuck." I moved to look her in the eye to see what sort of reaction I had garnered. There was a gasp and I felt her stiffen in my arms. Her eyes then rolled back in her head and she slumped in my arms. If I had not supported her she would have fallen to the ground.

What do I do now? The bitch was fainted on me. Lowering her to the pavement seemed wrong so I put one hand under her knees and lifted her. She was lighter than I expected but I think I also still had a bit of adrenaline running. She was limp in my arms. I carried her inside and looked for a couch but the only one I could see was covered in bags and parcels she had brought in when she arrived home. I walked to the corridor that led off the lounge in search of a bed. I nudged open a likely looking door and saw what could only be her bedroom. All pink and pastels. Limoges dolls, lace and frills. There were floral patterns everywhere and the room smelled of that dusty compost called potpourri. This room was about as masculine as Dolly Parton.

I placed her lengthwise on the bed. Picking up a wrist I checked for a pulse. What if it was more than simply passing out? I found a pulse but also a forearm with a very attractive expanse of skin. I fleeting entertained the opportunity to explore some other parts of her insensible body but even this bitch probably deserved more respect than that.

She stirred and started muttering. It sounded like, "od, ad ep." Her eyes were flickering and it clear that she was not fully cognizant of her surroundings. She continued to gabble, "od, ad ep... od, ad ep." Her eyes steadied now and seemed to gain focus. She looked at me and at first seemed alarmed but then she let out a big sigh and again muttered something like "ood, ard eep." Her voice had a hint of resignation to it. Like she was somehow giving up.

As I watched she swiveled so that she was facing me with her lower legs dangling over the edge of the bed. I was startled to see that her hands had disappeared under her skirt and she appeared to be wriggling out of her underwear. A very brief pair of red knickers appeared and she tossed them to the floor. To amplify my surprise she then flipped up her skirt to present her genital region. She had jet black pubic hair which was precisely trimmed into a perfect triangle. It looked more like a pelt that a bush.

I was baffled. What was I meant to do here?

I queried her, "Ms. Satterthwaite, are you all right?" I was starting to wonder if she had had a stroke or some other debilitating attack. My eyes were still transfixed by the sight before me of an attractive middle aged women who was naked from the waist down.

Her legs which had remained together, now slowly moved apart and at the same time drew back. This more clearly exposed her nether region and I could now make out some large fleshy labial lips.

Her eyes fluttered open and looked at me. "What you said before. What you said I needed." Her voice was faltering and unsure.

"I still don't understand Ms. Satterthwaite."

"You idiot. A good, hard, deep fuck. Are you up to it or are you going to shirk this as well."

That rankled so I roughly pulled her by the thighs until her bottom was at the edge of the bed. This made her gasp and I again saw that nervous flutter of her eye lids. I cocked her legs back so that her thighs were on her chest and her feet were pointed towards the ceiling.

I placed my palm on her mons pubis at an angle that allowed me to graze my thumb up and down her slit. I was delighted to see how lubricated she was. Veritable rivulets! I concentrated my attention on her clitoris and she started to shudder irregularly and emit a highly pitched moan. Her whole face was tight and pinched. After a minute she was vibrating like a washing machine. After only a further minute she slumped and became motionless. All the tension that had accumulated drained from her body in seconds.

I shuffled closer and lowered my pants. I gave her twat a few slaps with my engorged member. Her eyes snapped open. That got her attention. I dragged it up and down her sodden pussy lips all the while grinning brazenly at her. She would snatch a glance at our pubic areas and then groan in what sounded like revulsion and throw her head back. Seconds later however she would sneak another peak and repeat the process. She glanced up at me and took in my brash enjoyment. I freely admit feeling self-righteously smug. I had broken the bitch down. She started to look uncertain and quite vulnerable.

"What do you want?" I asked

"You bastard" she grunted back.

"Tell me what you want" I again queried.

She bit her lower lip and looked away. She quietly and deliberately spoke the following words. "A good... hard... deep... fuck."

That was enough invitation for me. I lined up my cock and entered her in one long, sharp, fluid thrust. She threw her head back and cried out as if in pain. It was fortunate that she was so well lubricated as she was one of the tightest women I have ever fucked. I felt like my cock was encased in a small, warm and wet velvet glove.

I still had my feet on the floor but the height of the bed gave me a good angle to really bang into her. She had her eyes closed and her hands were balled fists clutching at the bed sheets at her sides. After a couple of minutes I slowed to a halt and raised her thighs up. She opened her eyes and glared at me. I put her legs to my shoulders and continued my steady rhythm. She was slowly becoming more responsive.

I took her right hand and placed it on her pussy. I grasped her index finger and grazed it across her clit. She grunted but after a few instructional movements I found that she picked up the action on her own. Over the next few minutes her hand movements became more fevered and I could sense that she was on her way to another orgasm. She began to grunt and snort through her clenched teeth. The tendons in her neck were sticking out like the strings on an oversize bass guitar and she actually looked to be in great pain. With a final death rattle wheeze she slumped. It was almost as if she had melted. Her eyes, which had been screwed shut, flew open but they had lost focus and were drifting randomly around the room. Her mouth was wide open and her head was lolling erratically from side to side. Now that's what I call a roaring orgasm!

Her makeup was a real mess by now which somehow appealed to me. The ice woman who always looks perfectly coiffured now looked sweaty and disheveled. I wasn't in a mood to give her time to recover. I reached out with one hand and gripped her neck. Both her hands flew up to grasp my wrist but instead of trying to wrench my hand away she seemed to pull my hand onto her neck. I gently increased my grasp and she let out a strangled moan. That was a surprise. She liked being choked!

This only heightened my excitement and I was now well on that one way road to my own orgasm. There had been no consideration about safe sex, contraception etc. so I thought it best just to plow ahead and deliver unto her what she deserved. The one distraction that was slowing my progress towards final relief were her finger nails. These I have previously commented on. They were now making a good job of mutilating my back. I am reasonably sure this was simply an unintended consequence of her own fevered pleasure but it was starting to put me off my stride. Something had to be done.

I pulled out, much to her surprise and I would like to say, disappointment. I quickly seized her by the hips and flipped her over. Her feet were on the floor but her torso was on the bed. I briefly observed what a shapely if somewhat expansive bottom she had and then I grasped her by the hips and mounted her. She huffed and puffed loudly as I plunged into her.

Her little brown eye was winking at me as I ploughed her furrow. It was inviting my attention. I grazed my thumb over her rear entry point and I instantly got an unexpected response. She bucked and shrieked. She flung her hands behind her and began flailing at me. I abandoned my anal ministrations and once again clasped her wrists to protect myself from her talons.

I was tempted to continue exploring her nether hole but I decided that, given her less than enthusiastic stance on the issue, it just might be one step down that slippery path that leads to the precipice called rape. It was a pity that this was obviously going to be a one off sexual affair. I would back my carnal persuasiveness to eventually convince her to let me have access to that particular orifice.

Back in the real world, I discovered that holding her wrists behind her gave me excellent leverage to really lay into her. As I pulled back on her arms, my hips would shoot forward. A delightful, sodden, smacking sound was produced as my prick thrust into her vagina.

After a few minutes of good, hard, deep fucking I fell forward onto her. I insinuated one hand under her, clutching her throat and another on top of her head grabbing a handful of her short, grey flecked hair. With each flex of my hips I pulled with my arms. It made me feel that I was very deep inside her and in total control of her body.

Indeed, this brought me to the boil rather rapidly and with a few final good, hard, deep thrusts I unloaded into her. I lay atop her for a few moments, feeling my prick wither and slide out of her. I rolled onto my back and caught my breath.

This moment is what is known as an awkward pregnant pause. What do you say after and encounter like that with someone you detest? My mind ran through a volley of possibilities...

"I guess this means we're engaged."

"That's a nice cream pie you have there."

"I was right. You did need that."

In the end I settled for a more tender comment... "You're a good fuck but still a bitch?"

She snorted contemptuously and moved hastily if a little unsteadily from the bed to what I assumed was her en suite. At least she was not disapproving of my sexual performance. From her, a lack of criticism was a virtual compliment. I considered my options. Getting dressed was probably a good first move. Do I beat an immediate retreat? That would avoid any further uncomfortable conversation but then I remembered she still owed me the $800 for laying the slate. I was a little concerned that, given the rather unusual nature of our relationship over the last few minutes, she might try and pull some kind of fast one and not pay up.

I moved back to the front room and took a seat. It gave me time to reflect on our encounter. I had thoroughly enjoyed myself but I rued some lost opportunities. I had not got any action with her boobs and oral sex too had been missing in action. And that's not even thinking about the lost anal prospects. Ah well I thought, "Better to have fucked and lost than never to have fucked at all." After about ten minutes she entered the room. Once again back to pristine presentation and coldness of character. Ice maiden.

Without a word she handed me eight hundred dollar bills. The arrangement had been cash on the day of completion so I was content. I thanked her and made to leave.

She signaled me to stop and pulled another $100 note from her billfold. "This is yours," she began, "for your ah... extra-curricular efforts today. If you undertake to return a week from today and, how shall we put it, repeat the service, there will be another."

Well blow me down. She wanted me to fuck her again! For money! This was not a difficult decision. I pulled out an imaginary diary and pretended to make entry.

"Ms. Satterthwaite, I have you done for a 4pm appointment next Thursday. A session of good, hard, deep laying."

It was a small miracle that my attempt at humor actually elicited a brief smirk from the ice maiden.

As I left I considered this development. She had paid me to fuck her. She was going to pay me to fuck her. I had gone professional. I was a professional fucker. I was a fucking professional.

You could say I had lost my amateur status.