The Thomas Household: Part One: (Eva and Kayla)

PART ONE: Eva and Kayla

I arrived early at the Thomas’s house because Mrs. Thomas had called me the night before to say she had some new instructions for me about the interior paint job I was working on for them. Typically I had been showing up at 8 o’clock, after she had left to drive her kids to school and then go to work, and had only bumped into her husband as he, too, departed for the day. I’m an early riser, so showing up just over an hour prior to schedule was no big deal. It would give me extra time to do whatever extra tasks she was sure to set out for me.

It was early June, and I was home from my third year at college and back at my old job of house painter. I liked the work well enough. The pay wasn’t great, but it was more than most of my friends made. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I was going to try to do anything with the bullshit degree I was studying for, so I was content with being a house painter.

Marla, who’d introduced herself as “Mrs. Thomas” last week when I showed up for the job, greeted me at the door and ushered me inside. I could hear the familiar sounds of three kids rushing around to get ready for school. Someone was knocking on a bathroom door upstairs and telling someone else to “hurry up.” Moments later, as we entered the kitchen, Mrs. Thomas called out an order at one child to come pack the lunches she’d made for the kids.

Marla was just another of several employers I’d fantasized about fucking over the years. Her dark African skin and intricately curled hair attracted me, but it was the shape of her body – slim and wondrously curved even after giving birth three times – that really got my juices flowing. This was only the second time I’d seen her, since she told me I had to leave by 3 o’clock each day, and she looked even better than she had when we first met. She’d said she was a school teacher, and I couldn’t help wishing I’d had a teacher who was that fine, or who dressed so nicely, when I’d been a schoolboy. Marla was wearing tight slacks that hugged her extraordinary ass and hips. As I followed her through the kitchen, I stole a glance at her butt, scanning for any sign of underwear but finding none, leaving me to imagine a thong, or maybe nothing at all. Her bone-white blouse was loose-fitting, but her hefty tits resisted it nevertheless, and it looked incredible against the dark skin of her long neck. She stood about 5-foot-6 in her short heels, which clanked against the tiles. We emerged from the kitchen into the dining room that I’d started prepping yesterday. A single drop cloth was the only evidence that I’d been in the room, since all I had done there was an initial scraping.

“I hope you don’t mind that I left that drop cloth there,” I said, wondering if she might remark about it.

“Oh, no. Since we moved all the furniture around, we weren’t using this room, anyway.” Marla began describing the peculiar way she wanted me to paint the room’s elaborate trim, alternating between two colors, including a new one she’d picked out for me. She handed me a swatch to get matched at the store, and I told her the new orders were no problem.

Just then a boy no older than 9 zipped through the room and disappeared into the kitchen. I barely caught a glimpse of him – the first of the children I’d seen other than in pictures placed throughout the house. The boy had latte-colored skin, lightened by his white father’s genes, though not a usual color to come out in such a mix. I had noticed from pictures that all of the children had a wonderfully unique tone to their faces.

Trailing the boy was a very pretty girl of perhaps 14, who I took to be the older of the Thomas daughters. She smiled at me as she passed, her head tilted to one side while she affixed an earring.

“That was Mark Jr. and Kayla,” Marla told me. “I would introduce you, but I don’t want to give them any excuse to delay, or we’ll be late.” I smiled as Marla leaned toward the stairway and looked up, calling out, “You’re going to miss the first bell if you don’t get your ass down here right now, Eva!”

Within seconds, Marla’s third child came skipping down the stairs, a bookbag slung over her shoulder. She looked older than Kayla, and I realized I’d been basing my impression of the kids on pictures that were probably a couple years out of date. Eva said “hi” as she passed by me, and I returned the greeting.

“That’s my 15-year-old” Marla said. When Eva spun around, glanced me up and down for a second, and added a very forward-sounding “Good morning,” Marla noted: “Fifteen going on…” Then she paused, seeming ready to retract her comment. “Well, I guess she’s 15.” I smiled uncomfortably, realizing that Marla had noticed her daughter giving me the once-over.

Eva was quite attractive. Her clothes were stylish but modest and not particularly remarkable. Her jeans fit well enough that I could tell she was getting her mom’s butt, and her top was snug around tits well on their way to rivaling Marla’s, too.

When the kids were out of earshot, Marla stepped in close to me. In a distinctly quieter voice, she asked me if I could stay a little later today. I found myself nodding in ascent before she even had a chance to explain her request. Marla told me she was going to paint her bedroom herself, to save some money, and wanted me to help her get started, since she’d never painted before. “Sure,” I said, letting my mind wander just a bit in consideration of the odd proposition. I didn’t really want to allow myself to decide she was coming on to me, since in all my years, nothing quite like that had ever panned out, my fantasies notwithstanding.

Marla thanked me and declared that she had to run. “You can start working whenever. Tom is in the shower, but I told him you’d be here.”

I was coming back in from the garage with a load of supplies I’d been stashing there when Tom came downstairs. He was a tall, decent-looking man of about forty. He hadn’t aged quite as well as his wife, who I guessed was a few years younger anyway, but he carried his gray and a few fledgling wrinkles with dignity.

“Oh, good morning, Rob,” said Tom when he noticed me.

“Mr. Thomas,” I replied with a nod.

“Please, Rob, I told you to call me Mark. ‘Mister’ makes me feel old.”

“Yeah, sorry – it’s just that your wife seems to like ‘Misses’,” I remarked.

“And did you notice my wife also looks ten years younger than she is?” Mark asked. I didn’t know how to respond, so I said nothing. “She’ll probably go by “Martha” even to her students, soon enough.” This time I smiled to acknowledge his lightness.

“Oh, but you don’t want to hear any of that. I was your age once, about half a lifetime ago, and I remember not thinking I’d ever feel this way.

“Did you meet the kids this morning?” Mark asked, making me think he was changing the subject.

“Not really. Just briefly,” I told him.

“Well, I think it’s when your kids get to be teenagers that you really start feeling it. Especially today. I mean, I know we were wild when I was their age, but I can’t help feeling they’re growing up much faster. It’s that pace, I think, that makes the difference.”

Mark was right that I didn’t really want to talk about age, and that I never really worried about my own, or about my future. But he’d been fairly talkative each morning, and had regularly distracted me from my work.

“My wife is very happy with your work,” Mark said. “She seems to have taken a liking to you.”

I thought that was a weird thing for Mark to say. “Well, I’m glad for that.”

“Tell me, Rob, do you find my wife attractive?” Mark asked nonchalantly as he sat down at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee, newspaper in the other hand.

Oh shit, I thought. Had he heard his wife coming on to with me, if that was what she’d been doing? I knew I hadn’t done anything to sound forward with her, but had he realized that? “Uhm…” was all I could say at first. I felt a need to answer tactfully. “Well, she’s a beautiful woman, Sir. I don’t know what else to say.”

“Look, Rob, I’m not a fool, despite my age. When I was your age, I did odd jobs around my neighborhood, and I know I fantasized about plenty of the older women I worked for.” I remained quiet, not really meeting Mark’s gaze. “It’s okay, you can admit it. I want you to say it.”

I relented, deciding a degree of honesty might be better than trying to pull off a total bluff, but I still wanted to be respectful. “I have noticed that Mrs. Thomas is very attractive, yes.”

“Well, I think she’d like to fuck you, too,” Mark said, assuming what I had resisted stating. I was visibly thrown by that remark, yet he continued. “I tried to get her to admit that last night, but she was reluctant. Nevertheless, I think you’re one of her types. Before me, she almost exclusively dated black men, and that was when we were about your age. She hasn’t been with one since me – or with any other man, for that matter – and I know for a fact that she harbors strong desires to this day.”

In my actual fantasies about Marla, of which I’d had a handful since meeting her and learning more about her while alone in her house all day, I had wondered whether Marla was one of those middle-class black women who exclusively dates white men, or if she’d had a past of partying with brothers, too. I knew from the stash of porno the couple kept in their bedroom that at least one of them was into well-hung black cock – even bigger than my own – and had wondered if she got off on that material, or if it was Mark’s fantasy alone.

Mark continued. “It’s not an easy topic to raise, so I’ll just be blunt. I have a peculiar interest that you might find strange. I’d like to watch my wife have sex with another man. At least one, actually, for starters. And you’re the type of guy I’d just love to see her fuck.”

“Oh,” I said during a pause, slightly flattered but more worried that if I looked as astonished as I was, I might offend him.

“I know it’s unusual, but I think she’d really enjoy it, too, and she’d actually feel better about it if I consented and was there in the room. She’s a little bit conservative, and extremely faithful. As much as I respect the latter attribute, I sometimes wish she would loosen up a little more.” It was clear that he was going to propose such a scenario to me, but I wasn’t yet sure how I would react, so I kept my mouth shut as Mark continued. “I mean, I wouldn’t participate. I merely want to watch. Do you think you could get into something like that, Rob?”

“Well…” I said. “I don’t really know, Sir.”

“Mark.”

“I’ve never really thought about it, Mark.”

“You’ve never had sex while someone was watching?” Mark asked.

“Not that I know of.”

“Well, let me tell you, it’s exhilarating. And let me also say that Marla is an amazing woman. To be honest, her sexual appetite outstrips mine, which I assure you is plenty healthy. And I want her to be happy and fulfilled, and I am always looking for new ways to spice things up.”

Then Mark shifted gears. “Can you fuck like a man, Rob?”

I couldn’t believe how forward Mark was being. I sat down across the kitchen table, still barely able to meet eyes. “I think so. To be honest, I haven’t done it all that much.”

“But you’ve had girlfriends. Or, at least, you’ve got some experience, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“And you can fuck for a long time? Like twenty minutes, at least?”

“I guess so. Usually longer, I think.”

“Good. She likes to be fucked long and hard. She’s pretty much insatiable. She also likes big cocks. How well are you hung?”

The conversation was now outlandishly uncomfortable, but Mark was so straightforward and casual about it all, I managed to keep from getting too anxious.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m okay,” I said.

“Hmmmm. I don’t really know what that means. Are you being modest?”

I knew that, in fact, that my size is way above average. My dick isn’t super long, but it’s thick as hell – it had actually been too big for a couple of girl’s I’d been with. One had made me stop after about a minute of fucking. Still, I wasn’t a superhero, and I didn’t want to sit there and brag about my dick.

“It gets the job done,” I said. That’s when I noticed the feeling of moderate engorgement inside my pants. Just the idea of fucking Marla had plumped my prick up.

“I know this might sound strange,” Mark said, almost as if the things he’d been saying were ordinary, “but can you give me a peek? I just want to be sure you’re the guy for this job.”

I was used to white men wanting to see my dick. None had ever asked me outright, but white guys had been stealing extra-long glances at my groin in locker rooms since I hit puberty, and more than a few drunken guys at college had found roundabout ways to prompt a glimpse. But that made me unsure of whose interests Mark had in mind when he requested a preview.

“Look,” Mark said. “I’m not some sicko who just wants a look at a young man’s dick. I promise you I’m plenty straight. I just want to see what you have to offer, so I can tell Marla.”

“You’re going to tell her?” I said, half protesting.

“Well, sure. She deserves to know what she’s getting into.”

I shyly stood up and unzipped my paint-splattered work pants. Reluctantly, I pulled my dick out through my fly and let it flop down. I couldn’t look Mark in the eye as he perused my meat, but I was sure he’d be impressed, since it was already a little inflamed.

“Wow,” Mark said.