Slow Steady Strokes

Housepainter - slow steady strokes

Painting houses is hot and tedious. The hours are long and the pay is irregular.

As long as I can keep my crew busy, we do ok. See, its my job to work the street during one job, rustling up the next job.

If people can see what how it improves the look of their place by visiting a job underway, the sale is much easier. Still, I have to hustle to keep our schedule full.

The one saving grace is my crew. Four painters, three of us college students and one senior in High School. We can get a suburban ranch done in 2 days, including trim and gutters.

I do the stripping first using a high-pressure sprayer. Takes 90 minutes, two hours max if it's a two-story.

Usually I have Gigi and Dutch doing the bulk painting - siding, doors, garage and so on. They are a good team, swapping high/low and moving ladders effortlessly. Like ballet I tell them.

For trim I generally ask the High Schooler Lacy. She's careful, has a good eye. Doesn't hardly ever spill which is important doing gutters.

Gutters get oil paint not latex, because they're generally metal around here and latex will peel from metal in a season.

It has to go on with slow steady strokes, to get even coverage and not spatter. It's a bitch to clean up oil paint, so I don't want to have to do it.

Gigi and Dutch are great but impatient - they won't slow down. So they don't do gutters.

Once the stripping is done I head out down the street, knocking on doors, lining up the next gig. I'm called the 'rambler', and I'm the senior member of the crew.

Mostly because I did it last summer and the rest are green, just hired this year. I'm only a year older than Gigi and Dutch; 3 years older than Lacy. Lots of turnover in this job. Do it one summer, hot, sweaty and you smell like linseed oil all the time, the next summer most folks find something easier.

I don't mind. Outdoor work is what I'm cut out for. Dark hair, brown as a nut from the sun. Don't have to work out because the job is enough, lifting and climbing ladders and humping gear in and out of the truck, I get all the exercise I want. Something like a six-pack and plenty of core strength.

So it's halfway thru the summer, a dozen jobs under our belt, our routine is down. Start at 6, work to noon, hour for lunch, break at 5. A ten hour day but then we're paid by the hour. Then it's off to the beach or the mall most days.

Anyway today it's a scorcher, getting on toward noon, lunchtime and I'm coming back with the next two houses lined up. A good morning. Put the paperwork in the truck cab, lock up.

I decide what the hell, let them get lunch early today, take an extra half hour. They can maybe sit inside somewhere and cool off.

"Gigi! Dutch! Looking good! Break for lunch, go find some pizza and AC."

They smile, don't have to tell them twice. Gigi climbs down, they stick brushes in a bucket of water and snap lids on paint buckets.

Dutch is a stocky hairy guy, used to hard work. Farm kid, doing some ag studies of some sort. Kind as can be, genial, uncomplaining.

Gigi is a soccer player for the U, doing a physical therapy degree. Short-cropped hair, amazing shoulders, Roman nose.

Dutch throws his shirt back on. Gigi is wearing shorty shorts and a tube top, low-top sneakers, too hot for much else. She has a light cotton shirt she grabs from the truck, will need that in the AC. Off they hare, it's just a couple blocks downtown to pizza and Chinese joints.

They don't wait up for Lacy, as she always brings her lunch. Frugal, saving for college. I don't usually join them. I buy the beer on Friday but it's not Friday.

Head around back to let Lacy know, and I find her on a ladder doing the gutters. It's two-story over the attached garage, so she's on the extension ladder.

She's a sight - all tan lean arms and legs, brown hair in a pony tail wrapped in a kerchief. Loose paint shirt over a boob tube, not buttoned. Compression shorts, flats.

Skin shades from a healthy tan to deep amber over her shoulders, her feet.

The way her back stretches when she reaches with the brush...the play of her muscles under her skin is mesmerizing. She's a star on the volleyball team and it shows, her conditioning excellent. She chose this summer gig to stay fit, and it's working. She's fit.

I watch her for a bit. Really easy on the eyes. A study in relaxed concentration, paintbrush held just so, right angle of attack, stroke like an ink-jet printer, even and perfect. Makes it look so easy.

A picture of health and athleticism, in that way only High School Seniors can pull off.

Leaning to the right to meet what she'd done already, brush running out of paint just as the stroke is complete.

"Hey Lacy! Looking good! Slow steady strokes..."

Lacy turns to look, shifts her weight, paint bucket swinging over as she turns to see me.

And in slow motion - one leg of the ladder sinks into the lawn, the other on a stepping stone set in the lawn stays put, the ladder starts to tilt and then to slide.

It scrapes across the gutter with a metallic screech, like the Titanic going down. The most awful sound in the world.

A brush in one hand, a bucket in the other, she figures it out in a flash, doesn't miss a beat, straightens, starts to back-pedal down the ladder, legs pistoning.

Somehow she keeps a hold on the brush and bucket, balancing with her arms against the ladder as she shoots down, going fast but not gonna make it.

I run to help, get under the ladder, ready to catch but it's no use, the angle is already too much to save it. Halfway down, her feet still above my head and coming down fast, she jumps.

Good call! Better to land in the grass, than get tangled in the ladder and break something.

But she piles into me feet first. I try to grab something, break her fall, but I only get shirt. She hits me like a ton of bricks.

We go down together, on the grass thank god. The ladder continues to the patio, lands with a clatter, the legs kicking up sod.

She's face to face with me, paintbrush between us, bucket dashed to the ground, her breasts pressed into me.

It would be a meet-cute if it didn't hurt. My head banged the ground pretty good. Her body-slam took the wind out of me. Her legs hit me in the hips upon collision before continuing to scrape the shit out of my leg.

A beat while we both got our breath back.

"You ok?!" she asks, real concern in her voice.

"I think so. Nothing broken. You?"

She untangled her arms, freeing the one between us by letting go of the brush, levering herself up and getting her legs under her.

She stood in one fluid motion, then flexing her arms carefully one at a time.

"Wrenched my shoulder and tweaked a knee, but everything still works. I'm ok."

From my vantage point on the ground she looked more than ok. Her shirt was torn where I'd grabbed it, one sleeve completely detached and slumped around her wrist. The rest off one shoulder in a fashion-model casual style.

The boob tube askew and with a wet smear of green paint (the customer's idea not mine!) right across one boob and down her chest.

The paint bucket had apparently splashed across one thigh, leaving a snazzy slash of green across the tan and continuing across one sweet muscular buttock.

I stared a little too obviously, getting a wry grin from her.

"I must look a mess! What are we going to do about this paint?"

She shucked carefully out of the wreck of the shirt, tossing the parts in the grass.

"Sorry about the shirt! I was trying to catch you!"

"My hero? I guess. Sorry about the body-slam. That had to hurt."

I stood, wincing at the minced leg. She grimaced in sympathy. The brush unpeeled itself from my chest and plopped onto the grass, leaving a large green brush-silhouette.

"I'm gonna be fine. Just glad neither of us broke anything. I'll get some rags from the truck."

She called after. "I've done so well all summer! This is my first spill!"

She was right. She'd done far better than the rest of us, spotless at the end of every day.

I stripped the shirt carefully on my way around the house, wadded it up paint-side on the inside and dumped it in the back of the truck. A rag I wore for painting, I wouldn't miss it. But the paint had gone clear through, and I was liberally green across my chest.

Grabbing the bundle of shop rags, a can of thinner and a tin of linseed oil, I put everything in an empty tub we used for rinsing brushes.

Coming around the back - Lacy was rubbing her legs with a hank of grass, not helping much, just smearing it around and making it worse.

"Let me help!"

I handed over a rag, popped the lid off the thinner, took another rag and wet it.

"The trick is to blot, not smear." I said helpfully.

Kneeling I started at the bottom of her thigh, blotting, turning my rag and using a fresh bit each time.

It works pretty well, leaving just a light green tint that'll wear away in time.

Concentrating hard on the task, trying to ignore those compression shorts just a few inches away from my face, and what they concealed.

I was nearly done when her leg started wiggling.

"Hey! Stay...."

I trailed off, looking up at her, rag in my hand forgotten.

She was peeling off her tube top! Rolling it up from the bottom, careful to contain the paint inside the roll. Making a band of it, she carefully pulled each arm thru and took it gently over her head.

Leaving her bare-chested. I could not stop staring. Two beautiful teen tits, conical and perky, bright pink aereolas, nipples like pencil erasers.

She pretended not to notice me staring, unrolling the top and making a wry expression.

"This thing is ruined!"

I found my voice.

"We might save it. Here." I reached for it, and she handed it to me. I managed by some miracle not to stare at her tits. I turned away reluctantly, filled the tub with thinner and plunged the top in, swishing it around.

"Let it soak, while I deal with the rest."

Retrieving my thinner-soaked rag, I considered her carefully, tilting my head.

"You look like some kind of green nature sprite!"

She grinned, punched me on the shoulder, leaving a green smear.

I took her stained hand and carefully cleaned each finger, starting at the base of gently rubbing to the tip, stripping away the paint.

She stood obediently, watching me work, just breathing, her chest moving in and out, her tits with proud nipples, hard now.

When her hand was clean she grabbed a towel and started smearing it around her right boob, making little progress.

Gently, "Let me."

Dropping the used rags I got a fresh one, applied a little thinner and held it up to her chest, paused, looked her in the eye.

"Well? Go ahead. It's not going to clean itself." She challenged me with her gaze. Then she thrust her chest out, her proud nipples inviting me to touch.

Starting at the bottom of the smear on her ribs, I lifted the paint with the rag in sections, readjusting to a clean bit for each square inch of skin.

Soon I had worked to the bottom of her stained boob. It was going to be tricky, as the skin was more flexible and her tit-flesh firm but yielding.

Holding with one hand flat on top, nipple between fingers and thumb I squeezed to make her breast bulge, make the skin taut, and blotted gently with the rag in the other hand.

She sighed, closed her eyes and put her hands on her hips, thumbs hooked in her waistband, a picture of patience.

This was not anything I had expected today - a mostly-naked Lacy standing proudly in front of me, with my hands on her tits, staring intently.

It was good. Very good.

I took my time getting every bit of the green off, as my cock tented my shorts.

The nipple was going to be problematic. Some paint there, but scrubbing that very tender part was not in the cards.

I blotted carefully, one hand cupping around it and squeezing to make it bulge, the other gently dabbing.

She shivvered. "It stings!"

I stopped, let her go, thought a moment. Then I got a fresh rag, opened the linseed oil tin and tipped some onto the rag.

Approaching her with one hand raised to cup her tit, I looked her in the face for confirmation. She nodded, her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth.

Squeezing the breast to make the nipple stand up, I applied the oil gently! The green stain brightened, started to slide.

Using clean cloth I blotted the nipple until it was mostly pink again. With my fingers now slippery with oil, I dropped the cloth, used them to massage the oil in thoroughly.

Looking up I saw her eyes closed again, her head back, face to the sky.

"Mmmmn. That's nice."

Continuing to massage her boob I worked the oil in, relieving some of the irritation caused by the paint thinner.

Inspired, I rubbed my hands together, and put one on each breast. She jerked slightly, opened her eyes to look at me, smiled. I took that as approval, and turned my attention to massaging both breasts thoroughly.

Starting by cupping the bottom, I slid my hands around the sides to the top, ending with both hands holding her tits with fingers over the top and thumbs beside, gently squeezing.

Opening my fingers I let her proud nipples poke between, then moved left and right to plip! my fingers over them. They poked out cutely between each pair of fingers.

To the side - plip! plip! plip! then back to the center plip! plip! plip!

Perversely her breasts were now both pinker than when the paint thinner had irritated the skin.

She touched my wrists, "Oh! They're pretty tender!"

I slowly released her.

"Turn around!"

She obediently stepped twice with her cute feet together, her back to me now.

From her cute heels just visible in the grass, up her lean calves and abruptly pale thighs to her runners' glutes she was the picture of a High School athlete.

Her narrow waist and strong back begged to be massaged - muscles ridged her backbone, shoulder blades and shoulders under her honey-colored tan.

Picking up the oil tin, I tipped some on each shoulder.

It was warm from sitting in the sun in the truck, and she responded with a deep "Mmmmhhhhh".

With both hands I spread the oil over her back, began massaging her shoulders. The oil made it a slippery, slidey massage, more a groping. She groaned with pleasure, slumped slightly, overcome with the sensation.

I worked down her back, stroking with my thumbs from her spine to her sides, hitting all those muscles that were tired from climbing ladders, wielding a brush. She bent further as I worked down until she was jackknifed, her hands on her knees.

Her tight butt was ever so tempting, and I briefly considered pulling those compression shorts down to get at her ridged glutes. But she abruptly straightened, turned to face me, face flushed, that splendid chest in easy reach, flushed red?

Did she cum? From a back rub! Probably just a male fantasy.

"Let me do you!"

She stepped around me, grabbed the tin of stripper and a rag from the ground, brushing against me with her naked side, her shiny back flexing wonderfully.

Wetting the rag she smiled and then started in on my chest, wetting it with the thinner then blotting with little circular motions, completely intent on the task.

She worked methodically, removing as much of the green stain as she could. Unlike her, my skin was deeply infused with green because the paint had soaked through my shirt. It was impossible to get it all.

"I'm afraid you'll be green all summer!"

"It'll wear off in time."

Blotting as best she could with a clean part of the rag, my chest was soon a collage of red irritated skin and green stains that wouldn't come out. That stripper really stung on my nipples! I flinched and she noticed.

Switching to the oil she dumped some in her cupped hand, set the tin down, looked me in the eye. She watched my reaction as she tipped her hand onto my pecs and began to massage the oil in.

I closed my eyes and melted, relaxing into her touch. She noticed and giggled, moved to my nipples, gave them loving attention with her fingertips. They hardened immediately.

Then my ribs got slathered even though there was no paint there. Then my abs, which she particularly seemed to enjoy. She kept fondling my stomach in any case, reveling in the muscles ridged from two summers of climbing ladders and wrangling paint buckets. It felt terribly bold, almost invasive.

I enjoyed every second.

Finally she got very personal, putting one hand on my stomach and just holding it there, looking me in the eyes with an expressionless face.

I took a sudden breath, my face reddening at the intimate feel of her oily palm just above my waistline.

This topless High School Senior was poised to slip her hand into my shorts, where it would immediately encounter my rigid member straining against the waistband. I wasn't quite ready for that. I was her manager after all!

I turned around to cover for my nervousness.

"My turn...my back I mean."

Pouring more oil she slathered her hands together. Starting on my shoulders she gave as good as she'd gotten, working muscles through my skin, munging around to loosen tight spots and paying special attention to my dorsals running from spine to side. I moaned involuntarily.

"God that feels good!" I said without thinking. Did that sound too intimate? Did I care? Did I want to fuck this 18 year old angel?

Letting her work for a while, I turned back to face her. "Shorts next!"

This was all good fun, but we had to get the rest of the paint off before it got too hard.

I didn't know how this was going to work. The paint bucket had splashed across her back leaving a thick green blop from hip to hem. Anything we did would allow more paint to soak through and stain her skin further.

She twisted to look at her butt as best she could, frowned. Then she solved the problem neatly, rolled her waistband down to bunch up her shorts paint-side in, just as she had done with her top.

She kicked off her flats, carefully lowered the roll and stepped out. She unrolled them, bent and dunked them into the thinner bucket, swishing them around.

She was now perfectly naked. No shirt; no shorts; not even shoes. Just a knotted kerchief to keep her shoulder-length locks out of her way while painting.

As she bent and swished I had a perfect view of her backside. Muscled back with brilliant tan lines, oily and shining; strong shoulders working hard. Her calves were bulging from the tension of bending over nearly double. They looked amazing.

And that butt!

Glutes prominent from climbing ladders, narrowing to the waist up top and rounded below perfectly to her crotch. And there, just between her legs, a fringe of blond hair peeking out. Her cunt!

Across that butt there was a wide green streak, thick and shiny. And some spots I'd missed before, on the back of her left thigh and calf.

Time to get to work!

"I'm going to work on your legs, some spots I missed."

She looked at me from under her arm, still bent over the bucket, toying with her shorts in the bucket.

"Go for it!"

Kneeling, I worked responsibly at getting the paint off her calf. Ignoring her wet slit inches from my face. Not staring at her cunt lips fringed with cropped fur. Not smelling her fresh-and-salty girl scent, mingled with linseed oil.

For her part she stayed bent, her calf muscles taut, hands on shins, forgetting the shorts now, watching me between her legs as I worked. Cute as could be, her snub-nosed face peeking upside-down between her calves. How was it that upside-down cute was ten times as cute?

And how could she be that flexible? She was bent entirely double, her boobs pressed to her thighs, side-boob bulging slightly. All that volleyball I guess.

God bless volleyball!

Working around from the back to inside her thigh, she accommodated by quirking her hips and turning one knee out, pointing the toe. It opened up her legs to give me better access.