Heaving the last two lengths of timber onto my bare shoulder came as a relief. The empty pickup bed was something I'd dreamt of for hours. My feet set off down the narrow stone-paved walkway on auto-pilot, retracing my footsteps for what felt like the four-hundredth time.
The path opened into the expansive, beautiful garden that backed onto the house, meandering between luscious lawns and flawless flower beds. I felt guilty walking the path in my filthy boots.
The stack of timber, beneath the gorgeous new garden shelter, was a welcome sight and my feet skipped up the steps. Dropping those last lengths onto the pile gave me chance to sigh and draw in a big lungful. My hands and arms shook out the hours of labour and my nose wrinkled at the fresh paint pervading the air.
Sighing, I arched my back as my arms rolled in the sockets, my shoulders stretching. I turned to face the imposing limestone house that dominated the garden.
Movement behind the giant glass patio doors attracted my gaze. As I squinted against the sun to peer through the window, both doors slid effortlessly open. In the open space stood Olga, the woman of the house. I often wondered how a single woman in her 30s who never woke before 10 am could afford all this luxury, but I wasn't about to question it.
Wiping my brow and pretending not to stare so openly, I turned away, although she made no such effort. Gliding into the sunlight, her thin, pale arms stretched high above her neat crop of short, dark hair; tipped with a hint of orange. Her gaze fixed in my direction, she sashayed onto the patio, her dancer's physique giving a litheness to every step, as though she walked to music.
Olga pirouetted majestically on the spot, face creased with a beautiful, beaming smile. My eyes followed her smooth, supple legs from the bare, pointed foot she turned on, to the shawl she wore as a makeshift skirt. Her tight, smooth figure and every curve were on display with the red bikini top clinging to her body so tightly. How I envied that bikini.
She raised a graceful wave to me. My hand reciprocated and I called to her, “Good morning, Ms...!”
Olga cut me off immediately in her musical Eastern European tones. “Olga! How many times must I ask you to call me Olga?” I held my hands high defensively, to apologise, and the garden tinkled with her giggle. “And good morning to you!”
With that, she spun about and prowled into the house, hypnotising me with her pendulous hips. A last glance in my direction, followed by a wave, and she disappeared inside.
My tongue moistened my lips, the vision of her figure etched into my brain.
'She carries herself like a care-free teenager. Just being around her gives you an energy boost.'
Looking at the pile of wood behind me, I sighed. 'I could use some of Olga's energy, I think.'
**
I straightened and complained, the back of my hand smearing the stream of sweat across my brow. My hammer and nails sat in a discarded heap. I cursed the baking sun above me, searing my tanned skin. A supportive post in the shade gave me a moment of cool relaxation.
There was no movement in the house since Olga left, but I knew she'd be home. The house would be cool, with the A/C running, no doubt with a fridge full of cool, thirst-quenching tonics. My throat burned dryly when I swallowed. That was all the motivation I needed to head inside for sanctuary.
Stepping inside was a relief. The wall of cool air kissed my throbbing skin, and I broke out in goosebumps immediately, hairs standing on end. I took a moment, head reclined and eyes closed, just enjoying the pleasurable sting that made me quiver all over.
The kitchen adjoined nearby, but it seemed rude to just pour myself a glass of water. I rapped my knuckles on the glass, hoping to be heard. “Olga?” I asked the empty room, but no response came.
'I ought to at least ask her before I just help myself,' I thought, slipping my dirty boots off on the patio and stepping inside, my socks padding quietly on the thick carpet.
The kitchen was immaculate, gleaming and empty. I walked through to the living room; easily four times the size of my own and furnished in soft creams. The hardwood floor was decorated with the occasional thick shag rug.
My breath halted as I listened for Olga, feet leading me through the silent house of empty rooms.
'Maybe she's upstairs. I could call to her from the bottom of the stairs.'
About to turn back, something at the end of the hall caught my eye: Olga's abandoned shawl on the floor. Walking forward, I spied her bikini top in the doorway. My steps slowed, but I couldn't convince myself to stop edging towards the open door.
'I shouldn't go in there. Maybe she's undressed. Maybe she's... What if she thinks I'm snooping?'
My feet weren't listening. They took me closer, hugging the opposite wall so that I slowly saw into the room. Inside the threshold lay Olga's discarded bikini bottoms.
'I definitely shouldn't be doing this,' I told myself as I rounded the door and peered inside. A decent human being would've knocked, but my mind wasn't my own. I was already examining the room.
That's when I heard a long, deep female moan. My body turned rigid and my cock followed suit. The hunger created by that sound was unbearable. My muscles flexed, my hands became fists and my jaw clenched tight, teeth grinding together. That one pleasure-ridden groan had flipped a switch in me.
Inside the threshold, not two feet in front of me with her back to the door was Olga. Her shapely, creamy legs were draped elegantly over the arms of the chair she reclined in. Her hair barely protruded over the backrest as she slumped in her seat, hidden mostly from view.
The room filled with another moan, now more urgent. My toes gripped the carpet as my fingers flexed, determined to grip... something.
Her arm fell to the side of the chair, clutching a small, leather-bound book, my heart rate rising as I started.
'She's reading,' I thought before I noticed the pen clutched tight to the book by her thumb. 'No, she's writing... A diary?' I could just make out the handwritten words scrawled in blue ink across the plain, expensive paper.
Her arm returned behind the chair. Olga's moans turned to sighs before the scratch of pen on paper filled the room. Soon, the scratchings silenced, replaced by a raucous roar of need and a single, whimpered word: my name.
'I must be hearing things,' I thought as the diary dropped onto the floor beside the chair; then I heard it again. A deep, staccato breath was drawn, fuelling another pleasure-driven groan to ring out, culminating in my name falling from her exhausted lips.
I knelt and peered at the diary on the floor. It lay open on an older record. The handwriting began neatly but became more hastily scrawled, lengthening and elongating as it was dashed across the page.
My breath hitched as I saw my name and, following the line, I read silently to myself while Olga throatily groaned my name once more.
'... he's here again, today. I watched him for an hour through the upstairs window, my hand buried between my thighs. Watching him sweat and strain, his muscles flexing as he tosses his hammer around with ease, makes me drip...'
Olga thrashed next to me in the chair, sliding deeper into the seat with a happy, rumbling murmur that took my attention. I heard the air rush from her open mouth following the crack of her hand across her flesh. She must've been truly soaked, I could hear her rubbing herself so clearly. Every groan and cry went straight to my pulsating length.
Still, my attention was drawn to the diary in front of me.
'... I dream of him coming in and finding me; of him catching me; of his judgemental look; of him taking me, making me his fucking slut...' The writing trailed off and broke down, then finished with another thrashed-out line. 'Fuck, I want to cum AGAIN?! I'm a filthy fucking whore for him.'
My hair prickled, as though standing on end, before I felt a sudden pain in my scalp, like fingernails biting into me. Then I realised my mistake.
My head whipped around just as Olga's hand snatched back from my hair and she jumped out of the chair with a cry, arms scrambling to cover her dignity.
“What're you doing?!” she cried.