The Fowler and His Net -- Prologue - Sex Stories

The Fowler and His Net -- Prologue

... it was a lot of hard work, but Gary Fowler had his own objectives. He had obtained these objectives at many other of his father’s clients. Private swimming pools were numerous in this area of the country and with pools came rich diverted husbands and bored distracted wives. Several local, uppity, middle-class women had thrown themselves at him, and the best thing, the best thing of all, was that exposure, in the close, snobbish circle in which they lived, would be social death. This lever had been used and had been rewarding.

Gary had remained shirtless and the lines of sweat on his muscular shoulders obviously proved distracting to Mrs. Barton. ‘My guests arrive on the fourth, will you be able to finish by then?’ she asked, letting her gaze lower slightly.

‘Three weeks? Aye, can do.' The extra time was an obvious signal, and a welcome one. He breathed in and slung his shirt over his shoulder, tensing his stomach muscles as he did. He closely observed Mrs. Barton’s face as he performed his well-rehearsed manoeuvre. It broke out into a barely perceptible smoulder, then converted to a smile.

‘We will be seeing a lot of each other then I guess. Maybe you can call me Samantha. That should make things... more relaxed, don’t you think?'

Gary liked this idea. Familiarity did not necessarily make a good business arrangement, but then his ideas were not altogether business-like. ‘Well, in that case, you can call me Gary. If you want, like.'

‘Well, I hope we can get this ...

... job done efficiently... Gary,' The plebeian name stuck in her mouth as he had expected. ’I must show my appreciation somehow.'

‘Aye, well…' his reply was interrupted by a bounding set of footsteps that started on the stair carpet and transformed into barefoot slaps on the parquet floor on which Samantha and Gary stood. The owner of those footsteps froze as a statue, open mouthed and wide eyed, staring straight at Gary.

‘Rachel, you silly elephant! You know you shouldn’t run in the house when we have guests.' Mrs. Barton’s words had absolutely no effect on what Gary presumed to be the source of the earlier curtain twitch. Rachel continued to stare, transfixed at the newcomer in the kitchen.

In return, Gary quickly assessed the surprise visitor that had congealed in front of him. It was a girl, slightly shorter than her mother, young, yet sharing all of the same physical characteristics. But it was her clothing that struck him most acutely. The little kitty t-shirt, way too small, had been stuffed, without a bra, with the largest pair of breasts Gary had ever seen on a girl that age. So much so, that a wide, downward facing tunnel existed beneath where the fabric refused to be tucked. Gary automatically began thinking of the instantly available access to the exposed underside of that mammary flesh. But it was what she wore below that began to unfurl his penis. An old pair of jeans had obviously been repurposed into a pair of shorts in a highly thoughtless manner, with ...