Big Flipping Deal Ch. 01

My cat,I thought. Even though I'd had him for three weeks – since the last time Mrs. Pinobscott went in the hospital – and even though his owner had been dead almost ten days now, and even though I'd been ninety percent sure no one was coming to get him and that she'd probably leave him to me in her will, I had still been thinking of him as her cat, just here with me temporarily.Well, still just temporarily for me, considering he's old as fuck and barely moves anymore. But it's permanent for him now.

We'd spent about an hour, Lindsey and I, wandering through Mrs. P's house, with her pointing out all the stuff that needed upgrading or fixing or replacing and me nodding and trying to keep my eyes above neck level on her. I'd asked if the twenty-grand trust fund would cover everything, and she just laughed.

"If I had my way, it wouldn't even cover the bathrooms," she'd said. Then she took mebackthrough the house pointing out all the things she thought we could do ourselves – tearing up the carpet, laying down Pergo in its place, pulling all the toilets and installing nice ones. Maybe tiling the bathroom floors. Definitely painting. Refinishing the kitchen cabinets. "It's a crapload of work, but a couple of hours a day and full days on weekends over two or three months, and we'll save enough in contractor fees to make the place pretty posh even on our budget."

I can't say it surprised me that she expected my calendar to be open for that. Obviously, a guy who doesn't have the money to get his car fixed probably isn't out living the wild life after work and gallivanting around town all weekend. But it did surprise me that she would say "we," and imply that she might be putting in as much time as I would. Weirdly, none of it came out as a question. Lindsey just started talking her way through the house, listing everything off, and all I could do was follow her around agreeing.

Maybe I was just stunned at the idea of spending "a couple of hours a day and full days on weekends over two or three months" with her.

Back in my own house, having a beer around the time I'd normally be having my afternoon coffee in the office, that idea really sank in. I tried to imagine her with her hair pulled back and a sports top on, shoulder to shoulder with me, wrestling at some carpet or a toilet. Sweat beading lightly across her forehead and the bare upper reaches of her chest. The image made me take a couple more large swigs of beer.

Since I'd taken the afternoon off for the will reading, I now had two hours back in my day that would ordinarily be owed to my taskmasters at the graphic arts company where I worked, plus a third that I didn't have to spend riding the bus. I knew what Ioughtto do with them – put in some extra freelance time on my moonlighting stuff. A friend of mine had hooked me up with this low-level educational publisher that needed lots of computer-generated art pieces for mathematics worksheet books they put out – triangles and pyramids and rectangular gardens with question marks around their circumferences. It was total monkey-with-a-mouse shit, no actual art talent required, but I could do a half-dozen of them an hour at five bucks apiece, which only put me about sixty or seventy hours away from getting my car's engine fixed.

Ugh, I thought.Screw that.

It was Tuesday, and the worksheet publisher cut checks based on what got turned in by each Friday by noon. So I had all week to crank through my current allocation of a2 + b2 = c2 Pythagorean Theorem diagrams and parabolas on coordinate grids. Meanwhile, I was about to lose all my spare time to remodeling Mrs. P's house, which meant no time for watching cable or surfing the net or playing around with my Yamaha keyboard and the composition software I'd bought for my computer just before the car blew its gasket.

I took this as vacation time, so dammit, I'm vacationing.

My beer had just about disappeared by this point. I looked at my computer workstation in the corner. I looked at Mister Whiskerdoodle curled in the middle of my bed. I looked at the TV on the wall.

But none of them quite got the image of Lindsey out of my head – dressed for manual labor, sweating and rubbing her forehead with the back of one hand while she worked ... her arm lifting, the pale hollow of her armpit showing beneath it. A damp dappling at the center of her back making the stretch fabric there a little darker than the rest of her top.

Even though it hadn't been much more than an hour since that amazing blow-job, I suddenly felt compelled to whack off. Probably the smart thing would have been to find some porn on my computer and use it to push my house-flipping partner out of my head. But instead I got some lotion and tissues from the bathroom and headed down the hall to the living room couch, since I didn't want to be masturbating next to the sometimes-farty Mister Whiskerdoodle on the bed.

So I kicked my shoes off and stripped out of my pants and underwear to relax into the sofa, where I closed my eyes and put myself in Mrs. P's house, maybe a week or two into the future, with the carpet all torn out and sawdust everywhere for some reason, air-conditioning off to maximize the sweat even though I didn't know why we'd need to turn it off unless we were just trying to be cheap on the utilities. Whatever we were doing needed gloves and safety glasses – chipping at something on the walls with some kind of tools, really hot, hard work that made us need a break and a drink something fierce.

"I'm going in the kitchen for a water," Lindsey said, stripping her gloves off and putting the goggles up on her forehead. "You want me to bring you back one, or ..."

"Nah, I'll come too," I said casually. "I think I could use a sit-down for a couple of minutes anyway."

"Yeah, I know what you mean."

We went toward the kitchen, where we had some folding fabric camp-chairs and a cooler full of bottled water and sports drinks. Lindsey was wearing shorts – the way her ass kinked back and forth as she walked down the hall got me hard as a rock before we'd gone a half-dozen steps.

Well, the imaginary sway of her ass and the grip of my hand on my cock got me hard anyway. I worked my erection a little with my thumb and forefinger, not pumping yet or reaching for the lotion.

At the cooler, Lindsey bent low with her legs straight, pushing that fantastic round bottom directly toward me as she got the top open.

"Water or Accelerade?" she asked.

I pulled my gloves off and dropped them on a counter, eyes never leaving her posterior. "Water for me."

Digging through the ice chest, she found a bottle and tossed it to me, then rummaged some more. As I unscrewed the cap and took a big drink, Lindsey stood up and dropped the lid closed on the ice chest.

"Hey, that's the last one," she said. "You mind sharing it?"

"Sure, but it'll cost you," I replied, handing her the open bottle.

She lifted it to her lips, those bright red lips touching where mine had been just a moment before. Touching, sealing, her head tilting back, the muscles working in her throat as she swallowed.

"Oh, yeah. That's good," she said, handing the bottle back and raising one eyebrow challengingly. "What's it going to cost me?"

"Pff, I was just joking."

"Really? Because I was sure you were going to say it would cost me another blow-job."

"Uh ..."

"I mean, this is really good water. It's got to be worth something."

She was moving toward me now, a heat in her eyes like the summer heat trapped in this un-air-conditioned house.And my hand was moving faster on my dick, still not pumping, but the thumb and fingers rotating the skin back and forth on the rigid, straining shaft.

"We've been working pretty ... hard," Lindsey said, her hand reaching forward to cup itself against my crotch. She rubbed up and down, leaning her face in close to mine. I could see the sweat and stickiness of the day's work on her skin, but somehow it made her more attractive, not less. Her gaze stroked back and forth from one of my eyes to the other, hungry, expectant. "Maybe we need more than just a water break?"

"I could definitely use a nice long break," I said.

"I could use a nice long one too." Her hand gripped me tight through my pants for emphasis, encircling as much of my cock as the fabric would let her. Then she closed the gap between our mouths and kissed me.

"Uhhmmm," I said out loud, now jacking my erection with a full-fingered grip, just as I imagined her doing there in that thick-aired, sultry kitchen. "Lindsey ..."

Her mouth felt almost as good to my lips as it had to my cock when she blew me in her car. As if on cue to give me a direct comparison, she slid downward to her knees, slowly, nibbling along my neck first, then teasing with her teeth at one of my nipples through my shirt, then planting a firm kiss right on the fly of my jeans as she undid my belt and button.

I opened my eyes long enough to pop the cap on the lotion and squeeze one palm full of it, then set the bottle down and leaned back into my fantasy.

"Ooh, look here," she said, getting my jeans down far enough to reveal the bulge in my boxer-briefs. "It's like ripping up carpet in an old house – sometimes you find hard wood."

I groaned, then groaned again as she tilted her shoulders and head so that her wide-spread lips could embrace both sides of my cock through my underwear.I had the fingers of my un-lotioned hand right at the spot I pictured her using her mouth to massage me, and I tightened and loosened their grip to mimic her nibbling.

"Mmm," she said, pulling back with a smack of her lips. With the thumb and forefinger of each hand, she pinched the very top of my boxer-briefs' elastic and then tugged them steadily lower, revealing my pubic hair, then my root, then inch after inch of my shaft, until finally she hooked them downward far enough to get them past the tip and let my cock lever itself straight up and out. "Yes! Just what I like to find on a project like this. Something that shouldn't be covered up."

"Well," I said smoothly, "there is one kind of carpet that would look good all over this hard wood."

"What's that?" she asked.

"Shag."

"Booo!"

"You started it," I pointed out.

"Then I'd better cut that off and startthis."And without breaking eye contact, she opened her mouth and wrapped it around me all the way to my pubes.

"Ahhhyyeah," I moaned, slicking my lotion-coated hand down around my swollen erection. "Yes – oh fuck, baby, yes, suck it like that ..."

She started doing that thing with her tongue again, like in the car, except that this time instead of coming at me from one side, she was taking me in straight on, so the movement lavished her tastebuds' attentions directly to the underside of my cock, rolling up first one side of the shaft and then the other. With her cheeks drawn in tight around me, she began bobbing. Slowly –unbelievablyslowly.

"Mmm-hmmm," she hummed around me. Though her lips held my dick within a tense, pillowy ring of flesh, I could see the smile at their corners and in her eyes.

"You really like – doing that – don't you, babe?" My words came out uneven because the sensations bathing my erections kept making me catch my breath.

"Mmmm-hmm," she repeated, and her lips parted momentarily in a grin, her head frozen in place and her teeth gently holding my rod about an inch from its base. Then the circle of her lips swept back into place, and her jaw widened to get the teeth back out of play. Now she sped up her movements, and I moaned and gasped to encourage her.

"Ooooo-whhhh – uh – nggh – yeah – yeah –" Matching the pace I imagined her using, my hand ran up and down my shaft in a sweet, milking glide. Liquid sounds squished out with each stroke, distant cousins of the noise Lindsey's mouth would make wetting my cock with every slide along its length. I'd hit on almost the perfect amount of lubrication – just enough lotion to keep everything sleek and smooth, not so much that it clumped or dripped or coated me so thick the sensation was reduced. It felt terrific on a purely physical level, and when I added in the miraculous visual of Lindsey's face – perfect, focused, intense and intent on pleasing me – terrific turned to incredible.

"Oh shit, Lindsey, I'm going to come ..."

As soon as I said it, she stopped moving and gave me that smile through her blue, blue, blue eyes.I held my hand still, cock thickened to the very edge of blasting out its fountain of white wonder.Still kneeling, head and neck motionless, she ran both hands up my belly and under my shirt, fingers curled over so that the backs of her nails skated cold and resilient against my flesh.

"God, Lindsey, that's just so good ... don't move – don't move ..."

Her thumbs swirled in circles around my nipples, fingernails pressing into my pectorals higher up. The soft, wet stillness of her mouth stayed jacketed around my entire length, a warm and luscious oral embrace that could probably get me to orgasm with only a hair's breadth of motion.

"Hnnnhhh – mm ... hold it ... hold it like that ..."

Pulsing at the very edge of orgasm, my hard-on begged for that last little push of stimulation to send it into eruption. I had to open my eyes and look up at the ceiling for a few moments in order to pull back and make things last at least a little longer.

"What I really want is to come in your cunt," I told her, still breathing hard. She slid backward and popped her mouth off of me.

"From the sound of things a minute ago, I'm not so sure you'd last long enough to get me anywhere." She said it with a grin, though, not a frown.

"I know," I said apologetically. "It'll be like one or two strokes, tops. But I really want to, and I promise I'll eat you out afterwards or something."

"Sure, why not," she said, giving me a shrug and a naughty smile. "I'm always game for getting my pussy licked. Come on, there's that roll of new carpet we haven't put down yet in the guest bedroom."

As we hurried down the hallway of my imagination, I went back to stroking my cock in real life. I had no idea why the fantasy had gone this direction – usually I imagine I'm some kind of stud and fuck the girl until she screams in ecstasy. But for some reason, the notion of pushing into Lindsey and immediately fountaining my load out into her cunt drew me like a magnet.

We got to the guest bedroom, and Lindsey lay down on her back, her golden hair spreading out like a halo against the roll of blue carpet – almost the same blue as her eyes.(Not that it made any sense for the blue part to be on the outside of the roll, but I wasn't exactly going for realism here.) My partially recovered cock responded eagerly to the treatment I was giving it.I got on my knees between her long, flawless, perfectly smooth legs.

"Why don't you get these off of me, hmm?" she asked, patting her shorts with both hands.The offer drove me crazy, and I accelerated the sweeping pumps my hand made along my shaft.Grinning, I undid the button of her shorts – she didn't have a belt on. The zipper opened easily at my tug ...

"Oh god, yes – this is going to be so good, Lindsey ..." The harbinger engorgement of near-orgasm swelled my cock in my fast-moving hand.

Just as she had done with my underwear, I brought her shorts and panties down with a steady, deliberately slow pull meant to heighten the anticipation. Her lower belly appeared, then the upper fringe of her blond curls.

"Fuck –" I suddenly realized I'd gotten too far ahead of my fantasy self. If he didn't yank those clothes right off her, he wasn't going to get in her before I squirted. The rush of ejaculation was already shouting at me from my balls ...

Grabbing her shorts, I got ready to yank them all the way off in a single move so that –

"Hurk-hurk-hurk – HuuhhuuAACCKKK!!!"

My eyes flashed open in a panic.

"Fucking shit, Mister Whiskerdoodle!"

The fantasy disappeared in a disgusting cloud of hairballs, but there was no stopping the orgasm. Almost in time with the rhythmic feline heaving that echoed out of my bedroom, the explosive pulsations of my cock blew a series of splattering blasts out of me and into the tissue – or mostly into the tissue: the first couple hit so hard and at just the wrong angle that they ricocheted over the edge and arced downward, one landing on the carpet by my foot and the other on the couch cushion between my legs.

Even as the weaker gushes filled up the tissue in my hand, I was leaping up and running for the bedroom, hoping but knowing there was no way I'd get there in time to stop the old cat from barfing all over my comforter.

I didn't manage to get there in time. But I did manage to spill several more globs of cum on the hall carpet along my way.

By the time I cleaned everything up, I was in no mood to try again.

Well, whatever,I thought as I put away the carpet foam and brush and damp rags.Lindsey's pretty obviously jack-off-fantasy gold. I've got plenty of nights ahead of me to imagine fucking her any way I want to.

And there were a whole lot of ways I wanted to.