Sorting Out The Smiths Ch. 02

Tales From Sechs City -- welcome to Sechs City, a wealthy, middle-class costal area of Western America in the state of California. A gorgeous, quiet largely uneventful place, people move to the city to follow their dreams, to live their day-to-day lives. It's almost too perfect to be true...

Jack's anger at his father had not disappeared the next morning. He grabbed two muffins and a flask of coffee before leaving the house, not bothering to sit down and have breakfast with his parents.

Lianne thought Lewis would be more upset by this snubbing by their son; but instead he just sighed, sipped his coffee and read the morning paper. Now and again he would look up at the large clock on the kitchen wall, and once Lianne was sure she'd heard him say, "Wait until tonight, be patient," to himself.

Wanda walked into the kitchen, dressed in her usual casual attire of large purple cardigan and long black skirt which reached down to her ankles, and carrying a basket of freshly ironed clothes. She had been working since six thirty in the morning, having got up at six as she always did. Even Lianne, whose last job had been some temporary secretarial task at Lewis' office some seven years ago, had no idea how she managed to stay so chirpy despite the early starts. She had been with the family ever since they had moved to West Avenue, and had grown to be one of their most trusted and loved friends. Lianne had often come to Wanda's motherly arms in times of crisis. But not now. Now was different. Wanda's embrace wouldn't make this confusion go away.

"Wanda," Lewis began. "It was too late to tell you last night, but is it possible to have the main guest room prepared for later this evening? We have a guest coming to stay with us for a few days -- no more than that hopefully. I'm sorry, it means more work for you today, but I'm sure Lianne would help if you needed some."

Both Lianne and Wanda looked at him with surprise. Finally Wanda replied, "Of course, Mr Smith. It shouldn't be a hassle. For how long will this guest be with us?"

Lewis picked up his coffee cup. "Hopefully, if all goes well, she'll be gone before the barbeque."

"Very good. I shall take care of it this afternoon."

Wanda left to take the ironing upstairs into various rooms. Lianne sat watching Lewis, an eyebrow raised, waiting for an explanation. Lewis was struggling to find one. She had been asleep when he had got back from the sports bar and so he hadn't had the chance to tell her what he had done. He had hoped it would feel easier in the morning to talk about it all. It was proving more difficult that he had feared.

"I didn't know we had a guest coming," Lianne said, finally breaking the rather icy silence that had settled. "Who is she?"

Lewis finished his coffee. "It was a rather last minute thing, my darling. I'm sorry, I should have told you, but it completely slipped my mind what with everything that's been happening recently."

"Well, I accept that, but you still haven't told me who she is," Lianne said, her arms folded across her chest.

Lewis wanted to tell her -- he needed to tell her -- but the words weren't coming, why weren't the words coming? It had seemed so much simpler in the sports bar, so much easier to talk about something like this. In the end he said, "She...she could be a very useful person..."

"For your work?" Lianne finished for him. Lewis looked at her. Why did he seem so sad, she thought. Now he was the one hiding something; it made her feel even more uncomfortable.

"For all of us," he said finally. He kissed her goodbye on the cheek, took his jacket from the back of his chair and walked out the door.

As soon as she heard the front door close, Lianne felt her heart leap. She put her cup and plate in the basin to be washed later and quickly made her way upstairs towards their master bedroom.

She knew it wasn't good to feel like this, when her husband, a man she truly loved, had left the building. It added to her bewilderment. Yet now as she looked at the digital clock on the sideboard and saw that she had one hour to go before the doorbell would ring again, she couldn't help feeling a little better about herself.

She walked into the en suite bathroom and quickly slipped out of the black silk dressing gown and long red nightie she had been wearing, before turning the taps of the large walk in shower onto her preferred temperature. A splash of cold water hit her arm as she removed it from there; it tingled her bare skin and sent a quick shiver up her spine.

Lianne caught sight of her reflection in the full length mirror that rested on the wall by the open doorway to the bathroom. She stood in front of it properly, looking at herself, at her 37 year old body: her long black hair that she had rarely cut since she was twelve years old; her 42 D breasts that had remained toned and untouched by a surgeon's scalpel due to a strict and vigorous exercise routine she had stuck on ever since Jack was born; her legs, long and slender, though perhaps beginning to show their age a little; the thin streak of hair above her sex that could do with a bit of work this morning. Without thinking she stroked the soft black bristles, remembering the joy there was in Lewis' eyes whenever he saw them.

She stood under the shower, feeling the warm water hit her skin and drop all over and down her body. She drew her hands through her long hair and rubbed her neck, closing her eyes, lost in blissful thoughts of almost nothing. She lathered a shampoo that smelled of coconuts into it, slowly massaging her scalp, feeling the worries and pain of the last few weeks just wash away down the plug hole along with the white remains of the hair wash.

Lianne wished she could have wanted to stay there all day. She wished that she could have wanted to never leave the shower, to just be able to sit down in the middle of it and drift off to sleep. But she didn't want to do any of that; she wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, to get herself ready for what she knew she really wanted.

She turned off the shower and dried herself down with a large fluffy white towel. Already her nipples were erect; already she knew that the wetness between her thighs was not simply the water droplets. She sat on the edge of the large bed, the towel wrapped around her, and watched fervently as the red digital numbers slowly changed minute by minute.

At last the doorbell rang, a sound at this moment of time that was the sweetest sound in the world to Lianne's ears. She got up off the bed and tidied up the towel as it started to slip off her gorgeous body. Slipping on a pair of worn looking flip flops, she checked her face in the mirror before heading towards the landing and the grand staircase.

There was nobody in the hallway, but Lianne knew there wouldn't be. This was a standard routine; things were already being prepared elsewhere in the house. She walked quickly towards the back of the house, towards the pool room and the large conservatory behind it.

The sun was already beaming brightly through the glass panes, making the conservatory feel like a sauna warming up. And there was the padded table which Wanda had set up half an hour ago, and there were the three purple scented candles, just lit, and there was Oliver, in his uniform of white shirt and smart blue jeans.

"Morning Mrs Smith," he grinned with a Southern drawl. "How are you this morning?"

"Morning Oliver," she smiled back at him, her eyes twinkling. "I'm all the better for seeing you this morning. Shall we get started?"

"Early bird catches the worm," he laughed. "You know what to do, Mrs Smith."

She did indeed. She walked over to the table and untied the towel before climbing on and resting face down on it, her arms crossed under her cheek. Perhaps today she would be lucky, she thought as she always did. But no; as usual Oliver's protocol kick started into action, and she felt the fluffy material of the towel back on her skin, covering her tight ass.

Already, even before his magic hands had touched her skin, Lianne was daydreaming. Daydreaming of feeling his hands all over her body, not just the back of her. She felt the drizzle of oil across her back. Like the cold water in the shower earlier it tingled and tickled, sending tiny goose pimples up onto the surface of her smooth skin.

Lianne closed her eyes as Oliver's hands made contact with her back, his strong movements firm yet tender. He knew from experience just how she liked her massages, or at least how she had said how she liked them. Deep down inside she knew she didn't have the courage to reveal how she really wanted him to touch her.

It wasn't that Oliver was particularly good looking; if anything, you would not have been able to pick him out of a group of Calvin Klein models. He was also a little simple, if you really thought about it. Lianne had often tried to make conversation about books she had read or films she had seen, but try as he may to join in, she knew that he would never have willingly chosen to read or watch anything she had mentioned.

But it was the way he touched her that sent her into these dizzy spells. He made her feel special, but in a different way to how Lewis made her feel. She couldn't really put her finger on it, and had given up trying weeks ago -- it hurt her brain too much.

How she wished that she could turn over. How she wished that she could seduce him, feel those hands over her aching breasts, her tingling nipples. How she wished that she could find the courage to tear that shirt off of his broad chest, release his naked body into her arms. As his hands got nearer to the towel she prayed that they would go under the material; that they would seek out the swollen wetness and work their magic there. But now, as every time, her daydreams were shattered by his sudden change from back to legs. Not that it didn't feel good. It felt oh so good. But she knew it could potentially feel much, much better.

Wanda came into the conservatory, carrying a tray with a tall glass of coke and ice for Oliver. "I thought you might be thirsty," she said gruffly.

"Much obliged, Wanda," he said, and though her eyes were closed, Lianne could tell by his tone that he had that silly big grin of his all over his features. "How are they treating you?"

"Can't complain much," she said, half-seriously. It was what she always said to questions like that. Lianne knew that if Wanda was truly tired of doing her job she would have told Lewis and her right away.

"Well, if you ever feel the need for it, you got my number for a massage too," Oliver said, taking a large gulp from the glass of coke.

Wanda grunted. "I'm not into any of this fancy new age stuff," she replied, starting to walk away. "But thank you."

"Ah, well. I tried," said Oliver.

Lianne tittered. "You always do," she told him. Now try with me, she thought. Close that door. Lock it. The key's kept in the plant pot just to your right. I want you. I need you. Fuck me. Fuck me. Please!

But Oliver finished his coke, rubbed his hands to warm them again from the cold glass, and continued to work his way down her legs, bit by bit. It was torture, exquisite torture. Lianne bit her lip as a thousands fantasies and desires flooded into her brain, pressed down hard on her folded arms with her head to stop her from losing to temptation and touching herself.

And then, with a final squeeze of his flesh on hers, his hand on the sole of her foot, it was all over. He walked away from the table, over to his bag where he kept a folder with all his paperwork.

Lianne sighed quietly and picked herself up, wrapping the towel back around her tender breasts. She'd looked forward to this moment all morning, and now once again it was over, once again all she had to show for it was a relaxed back and a very un-relaxed libido.

Oliver handed her the thin piece of paper that constituted as her bill. "Hope that was okay for you," he said to her, smiling gently.

Lianne wanted to scream. She took a moment to calm herself down and replied, "Oliver, it was heavenly. It's always heavenly. Can you keep our next appointment?"

"Absolutely, Mrs Smith. Two days time it is." He gathered up his oils and was gone. Despite the strong smell of the lavender candles, there was still the subtle hint of his strong fruity aftershave floating in the air.

Lianne took a moment to breath it in, then, feeling decisive, she went quickly over to the conservatory door and closed it. She drew the blinds to block out the view of the swimming pool and gazed out through the outer glass wall into the large garden in front of her. The trees and plants looked divine as always; so many different colours bursting into life.

Lianne sat herself back up onto the massage table, sitting on the white towel. She felt the warm rays of the sun all over her body, a poor substitute for Oliver's warm hands. She began to caress her body, down gently between her breasts, along her thighs. She teased and played with the rock hard nipples, stroked the soaking lips of her mound. Already she felt waves of relieving pleasure flood over and through her; it made her greedy for more.

But she stopped. Something wasn't right. She had played with herself many, many times, often to great pleasurable success. But it was different somehow. This time she knew it wouldn't satisfy, no matter how many times she made herself come. Bitter tears came to her eyes and she wiped them hurriedly. There was no sense in denying it; she had to make a choice. Her touch would not satisfy her alone. She was trapped.

*****

The cab drew to a halt just outside the entrance of West Avenue. The driver, a scarred dark-skinned man with a thick moustache turned round in his seat to look at his passenger, who was staring out of the window at the sight of all those grand houses.

"Here you are," he sad. "This is where the rich people come to live when their old houses are too small."

"That sounds about right," replied the passenger dryly.

"You visiting some friends here?" the driver asked gesturing to the large suitcase by the occupant's feet with his head.

"Actually, I've come to do a job," was the reply, before money was handed over, the case was picked up and the back of the cap was left empty.

The driver watched as the figure walked off up the pavement. "You can come do a job with me anytime," he laughed, before indicating and pulling away from the kerb to pick up his next fare.

*****

Dinner was being served when the doorbell rang. Jack, already on his way downstairs to get to the dining room, decided to give Wanda a break and get it for her. He wasn't very keen on the idea of having a maid, especially someone as nice as Wanda, made to scrub and cook and clean when he knew perfectly well they could look after themselves.

He hadn't been told that there was a guest coming, but he had guessed as he passed the main guest room, which was between his own room and the staircase. Everything been prepared in there for a guest -- fresh sheets, fresh towels, fresh polish; it was the usual routine for a guest at the Smith household.

Jack opened the door as the bell rang for a second time. He was slightly taken aback at what he saw. Standing in front of him, a large green suitcase by her side, was one of the most gorgeous women he had ever seen. Short wavy blonde hair to her shoulders, a pale complexion, bright green eyes that, though friendly, also held some sense of authority in them. She was dressed in tight black jeans and a red top under a shirt black jacket. She had small, slightly pursed lips that were not meant for large grins but a type of short smile, which she now demonstrated to Jack.

"Good evening," she said, in a low, slightly husky voice. "I believe I'm expected. This is the Smith house, isn't it?"

Jack hoped he wasn't gaping like an idiot in front of this vision. How old was she -- 28? 30? Didn't matter, as long as she was staying here. "Yeah, this is the place all right," he managed to say without sounding too foolish. "Come in, come in, please."

She did so, looking around at her new surroundings as Jack closed the front door behind her. Unlike other visitors she didn't seem very impressed with the size or the grandeur house. It looked more like her expectations had been matched.

"You must be Jack, I take it," she said, turning to him and making him jump slightly. "It's nice to meet you. Where are your parents? I'd like to get started as soon as possible."

Jack frowned. Started? What the hell was she on about? "They're in the, er, dining room. We're just about to have dinner."

"Good," replied the woman shortly. "I'm starving. This way, is it?" She was off at a brick pace before Jack had time to answer. He followed her, his wide eyes staring at her stunning butt.

Both Lianne and Lewis were startled to see the newcomer walk purposefully through the dining room door. Wanda, a ladle of gravy in her hand, froze in mid-pour over Lewis' plate.

"How do you do?" said the blonde woman. "My name is Elizabeth Callaghan."

"Yes, of course you are," replied Lewis, rising hurriedly to his feet and shaking her hand, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. "How do you do? I'm Lewis Smith, this is my wife, Lianne, and I see you've already met my son..."

"It's nice to meet you all," replied Elizabeth, dropping Lewis' hand and moving to the empty chair in the middle of the table opposite Lianne, "but it's been a long journey and I'm afraid I'm starving, so..."

Lewis looked a little shaken, but he nodded. "Of course, absolutely. Wanda, would you be able to get something for Miss Callaghan to eat?"

Wanda looked at him with a grimace. "There may be some scraps left over," she said shortly. "I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you Wanda," Lewis called after her. "Please, Miss Callaghan, take a seat. Were the city roads particularly bad or...?"

"No," replied Elizabeth, placing her bag by her side and sitting down in a smooth, very efficient looking manner. "When I say I had a long journey, I mean to say that this morning I was on a plane from Gatwick Airport. I've been working for a family in England for two weeks or so."

Lewis, who was still standing, looked surprised. "You're an international company, then?"

Elizabeth rested her elbows on the table. "Wherever we are needed, wherever our services are required, that's where we go."

"And just who exactly, if you don't mind me asking, is 'we'?" asked Lianne as politely as she could. She had already started to treat the newcomer with mistrust. It was plain to see how beautiful she was; she didn't even need to look at her son's horny looks to see that.

"We, Mrs Smith, are Family Care."

There was silence following this revelation. Even Jack's attention was drawn away from Elizabeth's body. Finally Lianne laughed, a little nervously. "I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "Did you say Family Care or was that just my imagination?"

"You heard me correctly, Mrs Smith."

Lianne laughed again, a little too loudly, and picked up her glass of red wine. "Fancy that," she said, before swallowing all the contents in one gulp, "fancy that."

"Wait...Family Care? I saw you guys on Jerry Springer or Ricki Lake or something, didn't I?" asked Jack.

"Actually it was Montell Williams," Elizabeth replied.

"And what were you doing watching that rubbish?" Lewis asked his son.

"Doesn't matter," said Jack. "You're that group that go round looking after all those nut job families. You're like Supernanny without the naughty step."

"A therapist, Lewis?" said Lianne loudly, unable to contain herself this one time. "A family therapist?"

Lewis sighed. "I've wanted to tell you both all day," he said. "I just didn't know how to bring it up. Last night I realised we aren't really as happy as we should be, as we deserve to be. I spent so long trying to figure it out but I just couldn't do it. We need someone like Miss Callaghan to help us in a professional sense."