Lexie's First Time(6)

In August, Carridee got a new contract, for a cabin that was quite a ways from town. Her husband Richard bought us one of those four-wheeled, all-terrain vehicles to drive to and from the cabin along a trail.

This cabin was quite a bit larger than the others, and you passed through a tight mudroom before entering the main space, which made the vaulted ceiling and chandelier with antlers seem even more



grand.

The only thing wrong with the place was the outdated kitchen, but by the look of the wood and tile samples on the counter, that was about to get renovated. I looked over the designer drawings and imagined I was the cabin's rich lady owner, picking my favorite finishings. I chose rich, dark wood for the cabinets and a creamy marble for the counters.

As I swept up the floors and dusted all the light switches, I looked around for clues about the

owner. I found men's shaving cream in the bathroom, but nothing else, so that mystery didn't last long.

What kind of man was he?

I opened the closet in the master bedroom and sucked in my breath. The closet looked like a men's clothing store—a fancy one. I carefully pulled out one crisp, pinstriped shirt and lay it on the bed. By the shape of the shirt, the guy wasn't fat or thin or super tall or short, but right in the middle. The wardrobe had a lot of colors, so that meant he wasn't old, unless he was stylish (by which I mean gay.) Something made a scratching noise, and I jumped in alarm. It seemed to be a tree branch on the

window, but I listened carefully to make sure I was still alone. The cleaning clients usually chose to be out during my visits, but this was a new place, and I had no idea what to expect. The man could come home at any moment.

I took off my T-shirt and shivered in just my bra and shorts. What was I doing? I was shocked by my behavior, but not enough to stop myself.

I picked up the man's shirt and pulled it on over my warm skin. The fabric was crisp and firm, yet comfortable, like your favorite sheets right after laundry day.

With the shirt on, still unbuttoned, I unzipped my jean shorts and stepped out of them. I found a full-length mirror along one wall and admired myself, chewing one fingertip and giving myself a

seductive look, my dark bangs falling over one eye.

“I like your shirt,” I murmured. “You don't mind if I borrow it, do you?”

My reflection gave me a lascivious look that surprised me.

“I really enjoy having sex with you.”

My hands dove down, between my legs, over my panties, and I dragged my fingertip over that

sensitive area. My nub was swollen within its fleshy surrounds.

“Let's do it again,” I said. “Put your big cock in my mouth and then jam it in my pussy.”

I giggled at my first attempt of out-loud dirty talk. How did people say that stuff with a straight face? People on porno sets must be laughing their asses off half the time.

I rubbed my clit some more, aware that I was probably crinkling the fabric of the shirt around the armpits, but the heat started to build, and I didn't want to stop.

The bed was right there, so I climbed in on the rumpled sheets, breathing in deeply to take in the scent of this unseen, unknown man.

The sheets were almost as heavenly as the shirts, and smelled of the same detergent—lavender. I

grabbed all the pillows and piled them together to form a body shape, then I rolled on top, on my stomach. I stuck my hand down my panties, drove my finger through my slick juices, then did that perfectly natural, calorie-free thing we all do, when we're alone and horny. I humped those pillows.

When I was done, I buried the crisp shirt at the bottom of the dirty laundry hamper and put on my own boring clothes.

I wanted to have a nap in that luxurious bed, but I didn't want to risk a Goldilocks-and-the-Three-Bears type situation, so I got to work cleaning the cabin.

My next visit to the luxury cabin, the owner was still not home, but I found something he'd left for me.

A plate of freshly-baked cookies sat on the counter, along with a note:

Dear housekeeper, please help yourself. DSW

I ran my finger over the note, transfixed by the handwriting. The loops were confident. The capital letters were enormous. The note seemed so casual, and yet it was on an index card, like the kind you might find in a box of your grandmother's recipes. Why not a Post-It Note?

The index card reminded me of Alice in Wonderland, with the neat little cards that read Eat Me or Drink Me. Who set out those notes for Alice, anyway?

I did a little more snooping this time, mostly in the second upstairs bedroom, where the cabin's owner had a desk set up. The computer was on, but protected by a password. I typed in the word

password, but the computer beeped at me. I tried password1234 next, and giggled at my stupidity when I got the inevitable beep.

“Lexie, don't be bad,” I told myself in the quiet, empty cabin.