SERVICE WITH A SMILE_(0)

SERVICE WITH A SMILE
How Sheila learned to grin and bare it!

Inspired by an il-lust-ration from Pandora’s Box



By Oediplex 8==3~

Oediplex

The green plush couch was a piece of heaven to Sheila. After a day on her feet, on high heels, to plunk her tired ass down on the sofa was paradise. How her calves ached, her arches cramped, her thighs were sore from the trotting back and forth behind the airline ticket counter. She was the day-shift (read day-shit) manager, the effective complaint department when customers had problems. When they had difficulties they were not at their best and some were at their worst. Sheila had to be many places at once (sometimes twice or more) to handle the mix-ups and complaints and irate people.

No wonder her legs had weary muscles. Worse was the constant work of smiling and being soothing to patrons. It was exhausting and made her brain drained too, and there wasn’t a smile left in her. Not even for her cheerful boy Shawn, the skinny redheaded who always was trying to raise her spirits. He was there for her whenever she got home from her daily grind, especially if she had to stay late. But the finest smile she could manage was wan and weak. Her son shared the fiery mane and pale complexion and slender build of his mom, but had yet at his tender age to lose his happy-go-lucky disposition.

Sheila once had been so too, but this job depleted the spirit, washed the vitality right out of her. By the end of the dragging hours, cleaning up messes and making others satisfied, she was deflated, like an old party balloon. This job sucked and she had not enough energy to spare her kid a grin, just a grimace, when she got off. Not even enough self ‘battery-juice’ to get off, when she was off by herself with a vibrator and fresh ‘bunny-batteries’ aplenty in the toy. She was single again, for sometime now, kicking the bum out awhile back. Now her only release sexually was masturbation, and she didn’t even have the ‘umph’ to bother. That’s how bad things were.

But she had no idea how to get out of this rut. More over, she was afraid that she could be demoted, as her temper got short and she even snapped at some rather rude passengers today. She lay her head back on the cool cushion of the davenport and extended out her long limbs. Her dark gray hose ended in black heels on her feet, and descended from the royal blue uniform she wore. A one piece smock that buttoned up the front and showed off her shapely gams. But behind the counter there was little that could be seen.

Except for her beautiful face. Framed in a glowing carrot-top mane and highlighted with ruby lipstick, her gorgeous visage had turned many a blustery male ‘insaner complainer’ into a compliant client. But if she couldn’t smile; by late in the day, as the shift was coming to a close, even her expression of confidence and patience was worn thin too. When it wore off, shit hit the turbo-prop. So she was inclined to just plop down and poop-out when she got in. ‘Service with a smile’, was the company motto. But it was getting harder to live up to that everyday.

Her eyes were closed as she lounged on the comfortable furniture. Then she felt her foot being taken hold of, the heel-from-hell being slipped off, then the other. She didn’t open her eyes. Sweet attentive Shawn was starting a ritual he had begun lately, to take off her shoes and rub her tired toes and massage her arches and sooth the Achilles’ tendon. This was really appreciated. And he was expanding his services, now he was bringing a glass of wine for her to sip. She glanced at the end table, yep, next to the lamp a tumbler of her favorite rose’.

Maybe she should see if he wanted to become a stew, an air-host steward. He had a winning personality, he could do worse. But she didn’t want him to grow up too fast. All too soon he would be old enough to be out on his own, then, if he wanted to fly away and see the world, he could do that. As she had in her younger days, single and not having to raise a youngster alone. Now her personal masseur moved to her calves. She didn’t want to have her nylons snagged accidentally, so she reached under her dress and caught the back of her panty-hose and lifted her bottom to shove them down.

She realized that today, she had let the hem of her uniform hike a bit too high and that there was nothing covering her crotch otherwise. From his angle at her feet, her boy could see up her dress if he was looking. He was. What did she expect from him? He was at that age where his shyness around women was gone, but his tact and sense of a maid’s modesty had not quite matured. So of course he looked. What he saw was his mother’s bare beaver. Could you call it a beaver if it was shaved? The crotch shot was of the naked labia, a flash of flesh that flew by in seconds, but was a moment suspended in time for the pair. Then the hosiery was off and they were back to as before.

‘Bare’, the word turned over in her mind, as Shawn continued his kneading of her sore muscles. Bare bottom, naked butt, nude pud, pussy in the raw; memories of dirty days when she had walked around without panties on under her dress.