Ring the Bell

Monique Elizabeth Rhodes woke on Wednesday morning in a good mood. Tuesday had been an excellent day and she was anticipating an equally successful day today. She was slightly tender from yesterday's triumph but not enough to avoid pursuing another great day today.

She sat on the edge of the bed, naked, and stretched. She always slept naked. It was how she extracted the maximum enjoyment from the satin sheets she kept on the bed. Some nights, the decadence of the satin sheets, combined with a couple of her toys, guaranteed she could achieve maximum pleasure when she masturbated. But not last night. The memory of the day's success was all she needed to fall into a deep sleep that lasted the entire night.

She stood up, stretched again and headed for the nearby bathroom. She peed and stood in front of the mirror. She ran her fingers through her hair and examined the result critically. She fluffed her breasts with her hands and admired the results. She loved her breasts. They bore slight signs of yesterday's work but you had to know where to look to notice.

She brushed her teeth. She wasn't fond of the peppermint flavor and rinsed her mouth several times. She ran her fingers through her hair again and headed for the kitchen.

The coffee in the coffee maker was hot and waiting. She had set it up before bed last night and the timer had brewed it barely a half hour ago. She poured a generous mug of black coffee, she liked her coffee black, and walked, with the mug held in two hands, into the living room.

She stood, still naked, in front of the floor to ceiling windows, looking out over the city. She could see the bank buildings downtown and the bay in the distance. She stood so close to the window that the cold glass caused her nipples to harden. Her two story apartment was on the forty-third floor and she felt quite secure, unconcerned that someone might be watching her from an adjacent building. If he was, she assumed it would be a he, and she knew him, she would invite him over for a closer look.

She absorbed the aroma of the coffee and took a large swallow. The hot liquid stung her palette and the back of her throat as she swallowed. It made her shiver and she took another swallow.

The early morning sun, shining through the tinted windows, warmed her body. She closed her eyes, faced the sun and allowed the rays to penetrate her skin. Her skin was a light bronze, almost as if she had a permanent light tan. She was an anomaly in her family who all came from Scandinavia and had lighter skin than most. The family rationale was that she had some genetic connection to her great grandmother who was the product of wayward mother who had a scandalous encounter with a black man after the civil war.

She was proud of her skin color and hoped the story was true. Her skin color was the reason for her nickname, Dusty. Her skin, like her breasts, was an advantage she used in her work without remorse. Add in her golden bronze hair and her prospective clients wilted in her presence.

Dusty finished her coffee and headed back to the bathroom. She showered, dried her skin and blow dried her hair. A few strokes with a brush and her hair was flowing behind her, perfect for the rest of the day. She put on a half bra and a pair of silk bikini briefs and headed back into the living room.

"Let's see. What should I sell today?" she murmured. She took several cases from under a table and opened each one. "Cosmetics, appliances or tools?" she asked herself.

"What am I looking for today?" she further asked.

"A man," she answered herself. "It worked well yesterday. Why not try for a twofer?"

"Tools it is," she concluded and put all the cases, except the case with the sample tools and catalogues, back under the table.

Back in her bedroom, Dusty selected an outfit she knew would be attractive to a man. A white, blousy top, open to the middle of her cleavage and a short pencil skirt with a side slit three quarters of the way up her thigh. No panty hose. They were a nuisance. Thigh high stockings with elastic tops, no garter belt needed, were a better choice. She added a small dab of cologne behind each ear, under each breast and high up on her thighs before she completed dressing.

"Okay," she continued the conversation with herself. "Where do I canvas today?" Dusty spread a map of the city and nearby suburbs on the dining room table. "Ah," she thought. "The Truman district, up in the northeast. Blue collar. Auto repair and machine shops. A man's environment. Perfect to find men that would be interested in tools."

Dusty added matching three inch heels to her outfit. "They're a bitch to walk in," she thought. "But I don't plan on walking too far." She picked up her case of demo tools and headed for the door. In the underground parking lot, she tossed her shoes in the passenger seat along with her sample case and got into her car, a three year old Acura NSX, in her stocking feet. Metallic blue. Her favorite color. Her skirt slid up on her thighs as she settled in the hip hugging bucket seat. She rolled out of the garage, turned on the street and hit the gas. The acceleration pushed her back in her seat and forced the air from her lungs. Cruising well over the speed limit, she headed for the Truman section of the city.

She drove around the area, scoping out a path for her plan. She was early. She couldn't really expect viable results much before ten am, near the first coffee break of the day for her prospects. She pulled into a nearby diner, parked, put on her shoes and went in for a light breakfast and more coffee.

About ten after ten, she paid for her breakfast and headed for her car. She picked up her sample case and walked around the diner and down the short block alongside it. She stood at head of the street behind the diner. There were private homes on one side of the street and the rear parking lot of the diner and the back lots of a row of businesses on the other side. The homes were small by current standards, about fifteen hundred square feet and on their second or third generation of owners.

Dusty walked up the walk of the first house and rang the doorbell. A woman in her mid to late forties, wearing yoga pants and a black sports bra answered the door. "What do you want?" she asked.

"Good morning, ma'am," said Dusty. "My name is Dusty Rhodes and I represent Cypher Manufacturing."

"Cypher what?" asked the confused woman.

"Cypher Manufacturing manufactures unique general and industry specific tools. We sell our tools directly to mechanics and individuals for home use."

"Oh," said the woman no less confused than before Dusty's explanation.

"Ma'am," continued Dusty, "is your husband home? Maybe he would be the more appropriate person I should be speaking with."

"I don't have a husband," said the woman and closed the door.

Dusty stood thinking on the stoop for a second. "She's was kinda cute," she thought. Too bad she had such a negative attitude."

Dusty walked to the next house. This home looked as if it had a recent siding and window upgrade from what was probably asbestos siding to aluminum siding and wooden windows to vinyl ones. The garage door was open, revealing a space outfitted with work bench, machine tools and a small welding area. There was a large milling machine in several pieces in the center of the space. A young man, maybe in his thirties, was working at the bench at the rear of the garage.

Dusty paused at the entrance to the garage and knocked on the wooden door frame. She knocked a second time, louder than the first, before the man turned to see who was interrupting him.

She waved and said, "Hi."

"Hi," he said in return. "How can I help you?"

"My name is Dusty Rhodes," and she launched into her introductory speech about Cypher Manufacturing and the tools they manufacture.

"I've never heard of them," commented the man.

"They've been around for over a hundred years," explained Dusty. "We only sell directly and maybe that's why you've never heard of us," she explained.

"And you're their local representative," observed the man, eyeing her up and down several times.

"I am," admitted Dusty. "I know it's unusual for a woman to be promoting machine tools but I've been very successful in dealing with men in a men's world."

"I can see why," he stated.

"Do you have a few minutes to spend with me?" asked Dusty. "I guarantee I'll not waste your time."

The man looked at her again, his eyes drifting from her hair to the heels. "Sure. Why not?" he answered. "I don't have anything pressing on my schedule this morning. Come on in and show me your stuff," he suggested.

Ignoring the potential double entendre, Dusty carried her sample case into the garage.

"Is that heavy?" asked the man.

"Not really," answered Dusty. "It's got some samples and catalogues I'd like to show you."

"Then why don't we go inside where we have more room and can be more comfortable?" he suggested.

The man showed Dusty through a doorway the led into a small, well furnished den with a leather sofa, a low table in front of it, several other chairs and a flat screen television on one wall.

"Make yourself comfortable," the man suggested. "I'll get us some coffee. How do you like your coffee?"

Dusty sat near the center of the sofa and put her sample case on the table in front of it. The man returned with two mugs of coffee. He considered where to sit. He placed the mugs of coffee on the table and chose to sit on Dusty's right, the more narrow area of either side of her.

"Thanks," said Dusty picking up the mug nearest to her.

"You're welcome," responded the man picking up the second mug again. "Okay, Dusty," he said. "What do you have to show me?"

"First," said Dusty. "Do you have a name?"

"Oh. My bad. Scott. My name is Scott,"

"Okay, Scott," said Dusty. She handed him a business card with her name, number and the logo of Cypher Manufacturing. He put the card on the low table. "Now that we have the introductions out of the way, what can I show you?"

"I'm interested in whatever you're selling," Scott admitted.

Dusty leaned forward to open her sample case, exposing additional skin on the inside of her breast to Scott. Scott moved closer to her to improve his view. Their thighs were in contact from their knees to their hips.

Dusty removed a spanner from the sample case. Scott leaned forward to take it from her, putting his left hand on her knee as he reached for it. Dusty gave the tool to Scott. He took it in his right hand, carelessly sliding his left hand up her thigh. "Nice size and weight," he commented. "Probably would do an excellent job squeezing nuts and bolts."

"I can assure you from personal experience that your observation is accurate," responded Dusty.

"What else do you have to show me," asked Scott.

"Scott, can I be honest with you?" asked Dusty.

"Honesty is the best policy," said Scott. "But I have to say that it's unusual from a salesman."

"I'm not the usual salesman," commented Dusty. "Try saleswoman."

"Okay. Saleswoman it is. What did you honestly want to tell me?" Scott said.

"I get the feeling you're more interested in something other than the tools in my sample case," suggested Dusty.

"That obvious?" questioned Scott.

"As obvious as a stud behind a bitch in the dog park," observed Dusty.

Scott laughed. "I like your style," he said. "Tell me, is the bitch in heat?"

"Is the stud home alone?" asked Dusty.

Scott took a second to understand Dusty's meaning. Dusty leaned back on the sofa, took Scott's hand off her thigh and placed it on her breast.

His fingers twitched around her breast involuntarily. He leaned in and kissed Dusty on the lips.

"I gather the answer to my question is 'yes'," she said. "Why don't you show me the rest of the house?"

Scott led Dusty quickly through a small kitchen, past a dining room and up the stairs to a medium sized bedroom with a queen sized bed. "Does this part of the house interest you?" he asked.

"This will do fine," Dusty responded.

With seconds, Dusty had Scott's pants opened and around his calves. She knelt in front of him and took his semi erect cock in her right hand. She followed up with her mouth. Scott was temporally stunned by Dusty's quick action as well as the feeling of her mouth around his erection. He struggled to remain standing when his legs weakened with her enthusiasm.

Dusty sat Scott on the edge of the bed and removed his shoes, socks and pants while he removed his shirt. Scott sat and watched Dusty remove all her clothing except the thigh high nylons. His mouth was agape as Dusty posed in front of him. "How's this for a sample?" asked Dusty.

"How well does it work?" asked Scott.

"I'd be delighted to show you," committed Dusty.

Dusty pushed Scott to the center of the bed and onto his back. She straddled him, settled down on him and rode him vigorously until he exploded inside her. She rolled off and lay alongside him.

Scott was breathing heavily. "Damn woman," he managed to say. "That was incredible."

"Thanks," said Dusty.

"Do you have anything else to show me?" asked Scott.

"Scott," began Dusty. "I'm a saleswoman. That was a sample. I have lots of inventory to sell, but you'll have to pay for the rest," she said.

"I'm interested," confessed Scott.

Dusty got out of the bed, cleaned between her legs with a corner of the sheet and began to get dressed. "I think we can reach an acceptable arrangement," she said. "Meet me downstairs and we can discuss the details."

Dusty was seated off center on the sofa in the den when Scott entered the room. She patted the wide side of the spaces next to her and Scott sat. "How does this work?" asked Scott.

Dusty gave him another business card. This card had an identification code in the upper left corner, C38, and a single phone number. No name, address or other identifying information.

"Call that number and leave a message with that code and a call back number when you're in the mood," Dusty told him.

"I'll call back within the hour and we'll set a time and place."

"I know this is probably an uncomfortable question," said Scott. "But how much?

"Usually three hundred an hour or twenty-five hundred for all night," answered Dusty.

"That's steep," suggested Scott.

"It's a comprehensive service," explained Dusty. "I doubt you'll ask for anything I won't provide. In addition, I offer discounts for exceptional performance. If you have qualms about that, give me back the card."

Scott put the card in his pocket.

"Okay," said Dusty as she packed up her sample case."

"Do you really sell tools?" asked Scott.

"Frequently," said Dusty. "Men really like their tools," she added.

"Mine?" asked Scott.

"Yours is superb," Dusty confirmed. "But the real profit is in the extras."

"Eligible for a discount?" asked Scott.

"Only time will tell," answered Dusty. "You certainly have promise but we'll have to explore further and my satisfaction as much as yours is a significant factor."

"In other words," said Scott. "If you have an orgasm then my cost may decrease."

"That's about it," agreed Dusty. "And multiple orgasms have even greater benefit. Are we okay?"

"We are," agreed Scott.

Dusty recorded basic information in a small note book. She recorded the card identifier, C38, Scott's first name and a rating based on her experience in the bedroom earlier. No other identifying information in case the note book fell into the wrong hands. She'd get whatever other information she needed in real time if Scott called.

Scott walked her back through the garage and she continued to the sidewalk alone. She stood in front of his house in thought. Based on her early success, she weighed her options. Should she end her day early, Scott wasn't exhausting, or continue selling tools down the block. Decision made, she walked to the next house on the block.

After three unsuccessful encounters with women home alone and uninterested in buying tools, although two of them took her business card and agreed to pass it on to their husbands, she decided to try just one more house.

The door was opened by an athletic man wearing a wife beater shirt, spandex work out shorts and a sheen of sweat.

"Hi," she said.

The man took a wide eyed look at her. "Hi," he said. "Come in."

He held the door wide for her and closed it behind her. Nonplussed, she put out her hand. "Dusty," she said.

He shook her hand. "Matt," he said.

"Nice to meet you Matt," Dusty said.

"What brings you to my home?" asked Matt.

"I sell machine tools," Dusty informed him.

"You sell machine tools," Matt repeated considering the statement. "You're a door to door salesman selling machine tools," he further defined.

"I am but I prefer the attribution 'saleswoman'," she responded.

"No gender neutral monikers for you," he asserted.

"I strongly identify with the differences between men and women," Dusty affirmed.

"Come. Sit down and show me your tools," Matt suggested.

They sat on a nearby sofa and Dusty opened her sample case.

"You really do sell tools," commented a mildly astonished Matt.

"Why are you surprised?" asked Dusty. "I was honest with you in the beginning."

"Honestly," replied Matt. "I had a different sense of you when I saw you."

"Explain, please," asked Dusty.

"It seems to me that a woman with your obvious attributes is wasting her time selling machine tools," Matt explained.

"My obvious attributes?" questioned Dusty.

"Do I really need to be more explicit?" asked Matt.

Dusty closed her sample case and put it on the floor in front of the sofa. "Okay," she said. "Let's talk about your sense of me."

"Dusty," said Matt. "I recognize that I'm already on dangerous territory here. However, I'm a believer in the old golf expression, 'Never up, never in.' Or maybe it was basketball."

"Matt, you can only procrastinate for so long," commented Dusty. "Just what is your sense of me?"

"Okay. Okay," repeated Matt. "Dusty, I'd pay to have sex with a woman with your attributes."

"That's your opinion of me? In just the few minutes since we've met?" asked Dusty.

"It is," confirmed Matt.

"Well," procrastinated Dusty. "How much?"

"How much what?" asked Matt.

"How much would you pay?" clarified Dusty.

"You take money?" asked a stunned Matt.

"Only for sex," established Dusty.

"And tools?" asked Matt.

"And sometimes tools," smiled Dusty.

"But there's no money in tools," guessed Matt.

"Good guess," agreed Dusty. "Make an offer."

Matt thought for a while. He pointed to Dusty's sample case on the floor. "Do you offer samples?" he asked.

It was Dusty's turn to think for a while. "I do," she said.

"Holy shit," exclaimed Matt. "Are you kidding?"

"I never kid about business," Dusty said.

"How does this work?" asked Matt.

"Would you like to give me a tour of the house?" asked Dusty.

Matt literally jumped off the sofa. "Follow me," he said.

The house was a mirror copy of Scott's house up the street. In the bed room she said, "This is nice,"

Matt looked at Dusty like a dog with a bone too big to gnaw on. Where to start?

Dusty stood next to the bed and watched Matt's indecision. "Are you sure you've done this before?" she asked.

"This is a unique situation," explained Matt.

"Sex is sex," commented Dusty. "Usually you start by taking off your clothes."

She took two steps to stand in front of Matt. She took his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. A wobbly Matt returned the kiss and his right hand cupped her left breast. "That's the idea," she said as she cupped his testicles and cock through his workout shorts in her right hand.

Matt regained his balance. He pulled her body against his and elevated the kiss. Dusty's lips parted and her tongue pushed into his mouth. Matt's hands slid down her body, below the hem of her skirt and lifted it above her hips. He ground his crotch against her's, expanding spandex shorts against damp silk bikini briefs.