They were supposed to be halfway to Key West by now but instead Sanchez was waiting in the car, absently tuning the satellite radio – finally settling on the Lithium channel, Smashing Pumpkins fuzzing blissfully into Alice in Chains– and waiting for his wife. The music fit his mood, anxious and a little pissy. He looked forward to these weekends, a chance to run away with Elena and escape work, friends, neighbors, the dog . . . he could have her all to himself and she fell happily into that role, inhibitions melting way in the heat and humidity. They had been on I-95 halfway to the turnpike and he had been about to have her hike up her skirt in the passenger seat when she suddenly and frantically remembered whatever the hell it was she was now hunting for inside.
Which was taking way too long. He punched off the ignition and took the front steps two at a time. Her purse was still on the table in the foyer where she’d dropped it. He stopped to listen, to see if he could hear her rummaging around upstairs or in the kitchen. Nothing. Then he called out to her and got back only his voice echoing off the marble. Shit. He stood there for a moment, befuddled, then through the French doors he saw her slim, pencil-skirted figure out on the patio, her back to the house. He pushed through the doors.
“Elena?”
She was standing at the edge of the pool, hands on her hips, and he had the random thought that she'd ruin her dress and her watch if she fell in.
“Elena?” he asked again.
Without turning she pointed out into the pool.
"What the hell is this?" she demanded.
Sanchez followed her finger and it took a moment to process what he saw: someone was furiously treading water in the deep end, as if backed as far away from his wife as possible. He was momentarily nonplussed, staring at the bobbing head and feeling like he should know what was going on but didn't.
"It's a girl," he said uncertainly.
He and his wife both stared in silence until suddenly recognition dawned.
Sanchez burst out laughing.
"Hey Marti," he called out to the girl in the pool. "Aren't you supposed to be at the office?"
"At the office?" Elena asked, her head swiveling to face him. "That's Marti? Your fucking temp?"
"Well, not mine. The office's. And she's a corporate concierge, actually. You remember -- "
"Yes, I know," she said acidly. "The errand girl."
Not many of the wives or other women in the office liked Marti. It wasn’t anything she did on purpose. In fact it wasn’t really anything she did at all, not consciously, it was simply who she was. Her warm and easy familiarity, slim confidence, pixie haircut, the rolled yoga mat peeking out from her shoulder bag when she left work. She wasn’t a kid, somewhere in her comfortable thirties, and her disconnection from expectation was somehow infuriating or threatening, that a woman her age was tied to neither family, man or career. Anyone who did their own thing always grated on people who felt like they couldn’t.
And now she had caught the tone in Elena’s voice and watched warily from the far end of the pool.
“She's supposed to be feeding our goddamn dog. Why is she in our pool?”
Sanchez shrugged, biting off a grin. He never took his eyes off of Marti. From this distance he could only see the dark silhouette of her shape under the water. “I don't know, babe. She's right there, why don't you ask her?”
Elena glared at him then turned back to the pool.
“Why the fuck are you in our pool?”
“Mrs. Sanchez, I am so sorry, I know I shouldn’t – “
“You’re goddamn right you shouldn’t. You make a habit of this? Stripping at a perfect stranger’s house?”
“No no, I just . . . I thought you guys were gone and . . . just wanted to cool off, I mean . . . “ She trailed off miserably.
Sanchez laughed out loud. Marti blushed. Elena had had enough.
“Get out here. Get our here now.”
“What?”
“Get your ass out of my pool. Right this fucking minute.”
Marti began moving uncertainly towards the steps, staring up at them for what seemed like long agonizing minutes while Elena and Sanchez watched. As the water got shallower she crossed her arms protectively over her breasts, moving slower, hesitating, as if expecting some kind of reprieve. Elena kept her own arms crossed and the two women were like mirror images, one angry and clothed, the other growing increasingly exposed.
Finally the water level was below her belly and she stopped, gesturing with her head towards the towel and clothes piled on the chair.
“Please,” she said, looking first at Sanchez and then reluctantly back at Elena. “I’m so sorry, if I could just get a tow – “
Elena cut off her, taking a step forward. “Oh no,” she barked. “You wanted to put your naked ass in my pool? Fine, then you can drag your naked ass up out of there.”
Marti blushed even harder, the flush creeping violently down her neck and across her chest. She tried one more time, an imploring look at Sanchez, until she saw that he was beginning to smile and she finally realized this was going to happen. With slow, heavy steps she began climbing the stairs, water dropping away, sluicing down her long legs until her pussy was fully exposed,.
For long moments she stood before them, hugging herself desperately. They looked her up and down with exaggerated deliberateness. Sanchez was just enjoying the view. For Elena this was an exercise of crushing power and her eyes glittered dark satisfaction. Marti shifted her hands and arms to try to hold in her breasts and Elena pounced.
“No no!” she barked. “Don’t you dare cover those tits.” She took another step forward until the two women were barely a foot apart, Elena towering over the barefoot girl in her heels. “You came into my house and took off your clothes and went swimming in my pool?” Marti tried to step back but there was only water waiting. “Hoping he came home so you could show off? Was that it?”
Marti stared up with wide blue eyes. “Please, Mrs. Sanchez, I didn’t know –“
“So show us,” Elena said. “Let’s see those tits.”
Marti tried one more time, a pleading glance at Sanchez.
“You heard my wife,” he said. “Show us those tits.”
The girl took a deep breath, swallowed visibly and lowered her arms.
There was another pause, long beats of silence while they stared at her. Well, he thought, they were even nicer than I’d imagined.
Elena looked her up and down. “Tell me something, Jorge. Couldn’t you get her fired for this?”
He let the threat hang there in the thick air, pointedly refusing to meet Marti’s eyes. Then he said:
“Show them to us,” his voice stronger, as if he’d just figured something out. In that instant there was a shift in the energy between he and Elena and between the two of them and the girl. He felt it. He and Elena exchanged a quick glance, as if something had been resolved between them. He turned back to the girl.
“Put your shoulders back. Back. Put those tits out, let us see them.” The girl’s back straightened, shoulders drawing back, jutting her chest out.
And without being told, as if drawn by an invisible rope, her hands slipped behind her back, nestling into the hollow just above her hips.
“Behind your head,” he snapped. “Put your hands behind your head. Get those elbows up.” She obeyed immediately, lengthening her spine and positioning her elbows at sharp right angles. Her breaths were coming faster now, marked by the rising and falling of her naked breasts.
Elena reached out one Jimmy Choo’d foot, tapping the girl’s ankles. “Legs apart,” she said. “You wanted everyone to see that bald little pussy? Then let’s see it.”
The muscles in Marti’s thighs popped as she activated her legs to hold her still in the awkward position, on display, nothing hidden from view.
They appraised her frankly.
“What do you think?” Elena asked him. “You see her every day. What do you think of her like this?”
Sanchez stared thoughtfully. “Great tits,” he said. “And look at how hard those nipples are. It’s hard to miss them.”
Marti’s eyes darted from Elena to Sanchez, back and forth, not quite daring to make direct eye contact but searching for some clue, a hint.
“Let me guess,” Elena said, reaching out. She took the girl’s nipples between her long-nailed fingers, twirling gently. Marti gasped, eyes widening, back arching. “She comes to the office, in her tight little tops and frilly bras, so everyone can see those big nipples.” Elena’s grip began to tighten and Marti’s lips parted. Elena watched the girl’s face carefully. “Oh she’ll pretend to be horrified that anyone notices,” she said, “but they notice.” Marti shuddered as Elena pinched harder. “She needs to be noticed.”
Sanchez nodded. “We all talk about her,” he said. “She wears those short little skirts. But these awful shoes, boring, so nobody thinks she’s a slut.”
“But she is, isn’t she? Aren’t you?”
Marti shook her head, imperceptibly.
“Of course you are. You’re a slut, aren’t you? That’s why you’re here, naked in our pool, hoping to be discovered.”
The girl’s eyelids were heavy, her focus on what Elena was doing to her.
“A needy little slut just hoping to find someone to use her properly.”
Elena took a step back and Marti followed with an awkward shuffle, never breaking her pose, her face now clouded with the added sensation of being pulled by her nipples. The taller woman grinned viciously and took another step and then another, pulling the girl away from the edge of the pool. Sanchez circled around, Marti distracted and watching him, wanting to keep track of him but afraid to turn her head and he disappeared from view behind her.
“Jesus Christ,” Sanchez said admiringly. “Look at that ass.”
“You like?”
“Even better than I’d imagined.” He took one cheek in his hand, squeezing. “That’s a nice tight little ass.” He gave it a swat and she jumped. “It needs to be played with.”
Elena still wouldn’t let go of Marti’s nipples.
“Oh, I think we have a new toy,” she said. “Don’t we? We have a new slut toy, don’t we?”
Sanchez put his hand on the back of Marti’s neck to hold her steady and gave her a proper smack on the ass. One, then another and another, beginning to find a rhythm, the girl’s body rocking with each impact, drawn up onto her toes. She was lost now, dislocated by her vulnerability, by what they were doing to her and when Elena slipped a hand between her legs she cried out, a sound of wet, raw need. Sanchez captured her wrists with one of his hands and pinned them to the back of her neck and stepped forward, bringing his free hand around and up so he could cup her breast, the one that Elena wasn’t still tormenting. Elena leaned forward and her lips caught Marti’s in a hard, taking, kiss, Marti pinned between them, grinding helplessly against Elena’s hand, Sanchez rubbing himself against her from behind. He put his mouth next to her ear.
“Now we’re going to take her inside,” he said to Elena but for the girl’s benefit. “And we’re going to tie her to the table. And we’re going to spend the rest of the day hurting her.”
Marti made a noise, more growl than moan, deep in her throat.
Elena broke the kiss, the girl still shuddering between them.
“God yes,” she said hoarsely. “Let’s play with our new toy.”
