Blue-Collar Boys (Service Calls - Alpha Male Romance Erotica Stories) (5 page)

Enzo

Vanessa Demos was one of the richest entrepreneurs under forty in SiliconValley, and one of only a handful female CEOs of a multi-million dollar internet start-up.  The idea came to Vanessa while she was bored and daydreaming at her former job.  She had worked as a paralegal at the law firm of Craig, Morris & Feinstein, and despite the fact that Vanessa was the only female in the office, none of the lawyers could remember her name.  After months of anonymous humiliation, Vanessa promptly quit, withdrew the seven-hundred dollars from her savings account, and vowed that no man would ever forget her name again.  She hired a college student majoring in computer programming to develop her idea—a social networking website geared towards women assisting other women (from sharing ideas about wedding planning and pregnancy to bargain shopping and dating advice).  And sooner than she expected, Vanessa was proven right about one thing: women
were
good for business.  Within three years of starting her business, Vanessa had acquired over 100 million dollars in venture capital, and cultivated the reputation of being a daring, ambitious industry innovator, despite not even being a college graduate.  And now, after a lifetime of working in low-wage jobs within the male-dominated workplace, Vanessa Demos finally had the opportunity to dominate men.

Vanessa was the boss, and not only was she the boss, she was the Chief Executive Officer.  She loved overseeing the company’s weekly meetings, where Vanessa sat at the head of the long mahogany conference table and ruled over twelve members of her all-male management team.  She loved scheduling conference calls with international tycoons and hammering out hundred thousand dollar ad campaigns in front of her junior vice-presidents.  And she loved, loved,
loved
being Chairman of the Board.  Vanessa was the largest shareholder with the largest equity stake in the company, and as a result, she always held the most important opinion in the room.  In fact, the only thing that gave Vanessa more pleasure than being referred to as “Ms. Demos” by the other members of the company’s all-male corporate board was being able to afford anything she wanted.  She loved her turbo Cabriolet Porsche.  She loved her twenty-four foot luxury sail boat.  She loved her 7,500 square-foot Italian-style villa with its Venetian gardens and Roman fountains.  But most of all, she loved her Olympic-sized Tuscany-tiled pool and its infinite rotation of young, handsome pool boys.

They weren’t boys, really.  They were young, attractive blue-collar men who preferred working outdoors, barefoot and shirtless, while servicing Vanessa’s pool rather than working indoors, wearing suits and ties like her junior vice-presidents.  And no CEO appreciated the merits of manual labor more than Vanessa Demos.  During her work week, Vanessa was surrounded by white-collar men in white-collar business suits whose only talent was their ability to recite budget forecasts and profit projections like white-collar robots.  But on the weekends, away from the fraternal overdrive of corporate ambition, Vanessa preferred the company of blue-collar men.  Unlike her workaholic white-collar colleagues, blue-collar men lacked pretense.  Vanessa knew
exactly
what a blue-collar man was thinking, and exactly
when
he was thinking it.  When she walked outside and slipped off her oriental silk robe, revealing her two-piece bathing suit, she could depend on the blue-collar workers—who were landscaping her yard or cleaning her pool gutters—to track her movements with lustful eyes.  When she called out for help in applying her suntan oil, she could count on them to immediately drop their yard tools and come to her aid.  And when those rough, masculine fingers ran coco butter over the goddess tattoo on her left shoulder, Vanessa could relax and take comfort in the fact that blue-collar men
truly
knew how to use their hands. They didn’t treat her like a delicate flower; they treated her like a wood shop project, massaging her shoulder blades and spit-shinning her golden skin with forceful strokes.  And they always knew how to have a good time—without worrying about tomorrow.  Blue-collar men offered Vanessa the perfect blend of raw physique, masculine subservience, and post-climatic detachment that Vanessa required in order to engage in casual, spontaneous sex.  And amongst the steady rotation of workmen around her 7,500 square-foot Italian-style villa, the pool boys were her favorites.

Raul was Vanessa’s first conquest.  Vanessa had first noticed Raul while he was working with the installation crew responsible for setting-up her new pool’s filtration system.  As always, Vanessa made the first move.  She came out onto the patio, wearing her flowing dragon robe and carrying a tray of freshly-squeezed lemonade.  But it was Raul who was the last crew member to receive a glass.  He stood at the bottom of her barren pool, eyes fixed on Vanessa as she served the tumblers to all his buddies.  When Vanessa realized there was one glass left, she glanced down into the empty pool and stared at Raul, taking note of the black grease smeared across his jawbone and knuckles.  The grease matched his black hair.  His blue eyes matched the painted base of the pool.  Vanessa focused on those blue eyes—two precious stones twinkling out from the bottom of a coal mine—and within seconds, she knew he would be hers. 

That week, Raul worked overtime every day, checking and rechecking all her pool pumps and cables.  Meanwhile, Vanessa was initiating their silent introduction.  She would exit her house—barefoot and barely dressed—and proceed to water her hanging plants, stretching her metal can up and over the swinging baskets with her ballet arms and extended waistline.  Raul’s aqua eyes would flicker, indulging in the image of her tanned mid-drift in the sunlight. 
It was so obvious
, Vanessa remembered thinking.  She wouldn’t even need to seduce him.  He was already seeking out the invitation. 

On the final hour of the final day, Vanessa waited until twilight cast a golden shadow across the water’s mirrored surface, and illuminated Raul’s bronzed back as he hung over the pool’s edge, testing the chlorine level one final time.  His buddies had already left for early beers, but Raul stayed behind.  He was waiting for Vanessa, pretending to need her signature on the final contract.  Vanessa let him wait.  She knew neither of them had any intention of settling the paperwork.  After an hour of watching Raul pace like a caged tiger along her veranda, Vanessa exited her house.  He stared at her, captivated by the image of her red bikini over her mocha skin.  He didn’t even say hello.  He only offered her his pen, which she brushed aside.  Vanessa had every intention of skipping the formalities.  With a tug of her hand, she immediately pulled loose the string of her bikini top, dropping it onto the white patio.  Raul’s eyes fell onto her perfect, round breasts—but only for the brief tantalizing moment before Vanessa dove like a mermaid into the water, christening her $150,000 dollar Venetian pool with her very first swim. 

Moments later, with her sleek black hair and exposed breasts, Vanessa broke through the crystal surface with a gasp of exhilaration, and drifted into the deep end.  She slipped off her bikini bottom and tossed it poolside, allowing the underwater spotlights to shine beneath her glistening naked body. 

“I can’t very well sign off until I’ve given it a try,” Vanessa laughed.  “And I certainly won’t sign off on your work unless you’re willing to test it with me.”

Vanessa let the invitation hang in the air before submerging herself underwater, enjoying the serene murmur of silence before the plunge of Raul’s body cannonballed through the water.   Then, she felt him overtake her.  His tongue forced its way into her mouth, his raw, calloused hands groped her bare breasts.  His muscular body kept them both underwater longer than Vanessa could bear.  She thrashed and kicked, trying to fight off his domination, but now, he was the one in control.  He forced Vanessa to breathe in his own air and accept his fingers as they invaded between her legs.  When they simultaneously broke through the surface, they gasped with intoxication.  Raul shoved Vanessa’s naked body into the rounded corner of the pool, and rushed to unbuckle his soaked jeans. Within seconds, he was pushing himself deep inside her body, fighting the friction of the water with every thrust.  When he wanted more of her, he lifted them both out of the pool, and smothered Vanessa’s breasts with his wet T-shirt and warm pelvis.  Vanessa savored the feeling of the smooth, enameled tiles beneath her arms and back, and cried out with a laugh every time Raul obeyed her order to grab her ass or suck her nipples—harder, faster, without restraint.  She had regained control, managing Raul’s rhythm and pace, coaxing him to build her up until her body hummed, then back off until she whispered for his cock once more.  She nibbled on his earlobe every time he lost his concentration, and warned him that if he came too fast, she would complain to his supervisor about how unhappy she was with his work. There would be no complaining.  Raul knew how to satisfy his customers.  He heeded Vanessa’s every cue, fulfilling her desires before he fulfilled his own, and in the end, it was Vanessa who came first, her voice crying out with a heaving sigh as her body shuttered to a climax, just before he indulged in his own.

It was over before dusk consumed them.  Raul dressed himself and ignited the patio torches, which blazed around the circumference of the pool like a tribal celebration as Vanessa stretched her naked body out along its surface, her fingers barely grasping its edge.  It had been a wonderful way to enjoy the first day of her new, luxurious recreation.

* * * *

Over the next few weeks, Vanessa indulged in her new lavish Venetian pool.  Crisp and refreshing at dawn.  Silky and soothing in the moonlight.  She swam naked and alone.  She did not host catered pool parties for prospective clients or business colleagues.  The pool was her sanctuary.  Hers and hers alone.  And the only men she shared it with were her pool boys.  They were the ones who took care of her sanctuary—and of Vanessa.

Raul was her first conquest, but not her last.  Raul was a fun, summer fling.  There had been a mutual attraction between them, a sexual connection that was impossible to resist amid the relaxing breeze and golden waters.  But before she knew it, she found herself craving the spontaneous thrills of uninhibited pool sex.  And her pools boys were always willing to accommodate.

Leo, who arrived with his sun-bleached hair and sandy beach tan, unexpectedly caught Vanessa’s feline eye.  His sculptured arms and tapered waist was one thing.  But his cavalier removal of his blue serviceman shirt was difficult to ignore.  He was a surfer, who preferred to work outside, barefoot and bare-chested, in nothing more than torn jeans.  Leo came to adjust the buoyancy of Vanessa’s springboard, and instead, ended up testing the buoyancy of Vanessa’s body. 

Like Raul, Leo proved to be an easy target for Vanessa.  She had sized him up the moment he flashed a “hello” with a crack of his gum.  Leo was younger than Vanessa, by at least ten years.  It hardly seemed a challenge.  And yet, Leo’s Hollywood smile and blonde insouciance made him impossible to pass over.  Vanessa’s springboard was too soft.  He came to make the adjustments.  Vanessa had complained to the general contractor that she desired a firmer bounce—less like an absorbing sponge and more like a naughty spank.  The general contractor sent Leo over to investigate, and he proved to be just the man for the job.  After removing his shoes and socks, Leo circled Vanessa’s pool and mounted her springboard, testing the elasticity of the fiberglass platform.  Then, he proceeded to unbutton his service man shirt, revealing his tight white undershirt.  He peeled both off his body and rolled them over his blonde hair with a shake of his head, as if he was breaking through a surf wave.  Leo tossed aside his clothes onto the tiled edge of the pool, removed a wrench from his back jean pocket, then gave the springboard a bounce before plunging into the water without warning. 

From under her umbrella, Vanessa adjusted her reclining sun chair and lowered her sunglasses, simply to watch Leo—in full-action.  When he breached the water’s surface, he hoisted a single hand onto the springboard and clung to its edge, his fingers and wrist turning red as the weight of his wet jeans pulled him down like an anchor.  Leo hung from the springboard—the ripples of the pool water slapping against his bare chest—and inspected its underbelly, grunting with every twist of his wrench as he tightened the stainless steel bolts in an attempt to give Vanessa exactly what she wanted.

Suddenly, everything changed as Leo felt the gyration of the springboard above his head.

“Still too soft—”

Leo heard her sharp voice before spotting her smooth bare legs and red-painted toenails, dangling off the front edge of the springboard.

Leo reached deeper under the springboard for a second session of raw, physical wrenching. 

“How’s that?” Leo directed his question up to Vanessa.

“Firmer—” she commanded.  Then, something flew across the pool and landed on the surface of the shallow end.  It ebbed and floated like a buoyant red toy.  It was Vanessa’s bikini top.

Leo stared at it, slowly replacing his wrench under the springboard, grunting louder with every new rotation.

“Now?” 

There was a slight gyration of the board, followed by a second red object that flung out into the pool: Vanessa’s bikini bottom.

“I’m not sure.  Why don’t you test it yourself and give me your expert opinion.”

Leo didn’t wait for Vanessa to change her mind.  He immediately slipped out from under the springboard and hoisted his bare chest out of the pool, the sound of water cracking against the patio tiles.

Leo turned, expecting to see Vanessa—naked.  Instead, she was sitting on the rear end of the springboard, covered by a white silk robe, wrapped up like the cigarette she was smoking. 

“I’m waiting,” she said, exhaling into the air.  She blantantly surveyed how the water beads clung to his hard pectorals and dripped off his sharp chin.