Nelly's Movers and Shirkers

Nelly's Movers and Shirkers

By Mantis

The youngest of the movers whizzed by her with yet another dizzying armload of her stuff. Where his two partners would saunter by with a single box this time, a folding chair that time, perhaps a lamp shade there after, The Young One always managed a multitude of pieces, of all shapes and sizes - square, round, tube-shaped, flats, gadgets dangling wires, plastic bags with fabrics fluttering about - gathered in a great, hodge-podge mass set akimbo in his powerful arms and wisked away securely out to the truck.

He was obviously the backbone of the operation, the one to depend on to get the job done right. And considering that the final tally in billing would depend entirely on the hours spent in her service, his competence and efficiency would surely save her money. Nelly liked Doers and Get-It-Done-ers, and he quickly gained status as her favorite.

As he passed by again, fully laden with things she didn't even realize she still owned, she felt the breeze created by the wake of his movement. The wind carried the feral scent of his sweating body, the current tickling the very tips of her nipples which pressed, in a rather slutty, braless, eye-opening way, against her flimsy t-shirt. The sensation froze her for just the slightest moment before she regained her focus and returned to her last-ever cleaning of that kitchen on Potter street. Though now there was a smile on her face where there was none before.

She'd noticed that he was more focused, and harder working than the other two blokes, who themselves seemed to be engaged in a virtual competition to determine which of them would be crowned King of Shirking. Nelly felt that the fat one was on the verge of coronation, but the unshaven one was never far behind.

Seeming a bit forelorn to her, The Young One did not engage in the blathering banter that streamed continuously back and forth between the two blokes who, no doubt, revered their own rambling extrapolations on the witheringly bland affairs of their lives and the insipid excuse for humor which dribbled out their mouths like snot from a tot's nose, as being on par with the most heady repartees of profundity and wit ever uttered during any discourse. Neither The Young One nor Nelly were impressed, and a few times they'd shared a roll of the eyes, a shrug and a frown, or a secret smile to commiserate with each other in the face of such vapidity.

Apart from those little moments, he remained aloof and did not endeavor to engage her in small talk, as did his colleagues, and that saddened her a bit.

"Hey, Miss Grisolm, it's a scorcher today, huh," the fat one blubbered. "Ain't that right, Rudy?"

"Awe, yeah it is. Li'l bit sticky today, aye." Rudy palmed the stubble on his chin, thinking himself intense.

"Yeah, I'll bet it's ninety-five today if it's a degree. And this humidity..." The fat one's words hung in dead space a moment, until Nelly realized they both waited in rapt attention for her reply. Exasperated, she forced a smile.

"Would you's guys like that I turn up the AC?"

"Awe, no, ma'am... that's all right. You got central air here. Me and Rudy ain't used to that. We're actually gettin' kinda spoiled over here. Ain't that right, Rudy?"

"Awe yeah." Rudy sung more than spoke the words in his thick, New England brogue.

Fatty smiled broadly. A heavily chewed, disgustingly wetted stub of a fat, unlit cigar was clenched firmly in the corner of his mouth. He stepped closer to her, and she fought the urge to cringe away from him.

"No... it's just that when we step outside, boy-o-boy, it sure is hell."

He wiped the condensation-accumulated glass of iced tea she'd given them moments ago across his sweaty brow and sighed. It had long been emptied, and she wondered why they were still standing about in her living room - their iced tea break over - and not returned to the work at hand. Behind them The Young One swished through the foyer and headed out the door with another armload.

Fatty held his glass upside down, no doubt to make it perfectly apparent how bone dry it was, and studied it a moment, a whimsical expression fixed on his face, as if its empty state was a paradoxical enigma to be deciphered, then returned his smiling gaze back to Nelly.

"But this..." he eyed the empty glass once again, this time with doleful longing - for effect, "...sure did hit the spot." He shot a ridiculous pout her way. "While it lasted," he added.

While grotesque, his expression added the perfect touch to make obvious his plea for a refill. He may have been a slacker, but he was no slouch as a manipulator. "Ain't that right, Rudy?"

"Awe yeah."

Nelly sighed. Perhaps we should get this Rudy one a Professorship at Harvard. The thought tickled her immediately, and she giggled inwardly.

"I'll get you's guys another. What about him," she raised her chin towards The Young One.

"Awe, he's good. Look at 'im... workin' like an ox. Me and Rudy here, we're showin' him the ropes."

"Is that so?"

"Oh yeah. We'll make a real Mover out of him sure enough. Ain't that right, Rudy?"

She escaped to the kitchen quickly before Rudy's brand of profundity could meet her tired ears.

No, she thought, The Young One did not have a need for small talk, or flirting. But she decided he was interesting. Confident, strong, good-hearted, good looking, he was a fine fellow indeed.

Why are the good ones always so aloof? Damn it!

Is it possible he doesn't find my hot ass sexy?

"No way," she spoke out to the empty kitchen. She knew better than that. When she marched back out with their drinks, it was with an exaggeration in the wiggle of her tushy. Hmph!

In fact, only the fourth man, who remained on the truck engaged in the fine art of loading furniture and household goods in a proper way, was less involved with her. He was a bit of a cutie himself, and she wished the blokes could exchange positions with him.

The Young One though, was like a breath of fresh air.

She found herself beaming brightly at him when he passed by, all teeth and gums, until she determined, in a moment of faux panic, that if she didn't quit it with the toothy smiles, she was going to blind the poor guy with glaring reflections off the Whitening-Strip enhanced enamel of her shiny teeth. Then she became overly self-conscious of what her silly mind now insisted were her gigantic, buck, beaver teeth.

Just those few silly thoughts was all it took, and she'd launched herself into a fit of secret giggles.

That was nothing out of the ordinary for Nelly, as she was primarily a happy, exuberant sort of woman - if not a little loony at times. Another key facet of her personality was being comfortable with her sexuality, which made her, for the most part, uninhibited and adventurous. And flaunting her slowly maturing, yet beautiful body without shame was just her way - as the braless t-shirts, the ever-present camel toe, and her short shorts could attest to.

Soon she began feeling rather rambunctious too, another of her preternatural inclinations. Whether brought on by moving exhaustion, the excitement of moving to her new home, the absurdity of the two court jesters invading her space, the scent and intrigue of The Young One, or all of the above, she wasn't sure.

But that wasn't entirely true. She was self aware enough to finally admit that it was indeed The Young One - and that, in turn, made a luscious kind of warmth develop between her legs.

Increasingly, her mind began to wander into the realm of fantasy as she mulled through the misery of moving-out cleaning.

She wanted to wrestle with him.

She wanted to jump on his back and ride him into submission, frolicking and laughing, mussing up his hair and goading him on as he spun and lurched like a wild stallion intent on never being broken. But didn't they both know the truth of it? ...that a colt always breaks under the reins of a talented cowgirl!

She wanted to trip him up, take him down, straddle him. She wanted to press herself all over him, and breathe in his musk as they tumbled and turned and fought for dominance - hands grabbing wrists for control, legs splaying about wildly seeking a locking position on each other; her long, golden hair flying about, falling repeatedly across his face and into his mouth, forcing him to continually spit it out between fits of laughter and histerical barbs directed at her.

And she would rub the exquisitely shaped camel-toe formed by the crotch-seam of her tight denim shorts firmly against his thigh with furtive movements of her hips, luxuriating in that secret pleasure amidst all the commotion of their romp, where he would not even realize, as she squirmed all over him, that he was being used as her pleasure board.

She wanted to move her face close in, nestle it deep within the crook of his neck, and whisper sassy taunts in his ear as they tussled. And at just the right moments brazenly steal tastes of his skin with snake-like flicks of her tongue. Quick, almost imperceptable swipes that would never quite register on him the extent of her sexual feeding; furtive enough to preserve her ruse of wrestling for wrestling's sake alone.

And all of this closeness really just a pretense, a feigning attack, an excuse to be in a position to breathe her sensual, warm breath tantalizingly inside his ear, and have it blow hot across his face, where her essence, carried upon that sultry wind like a sprinkle of fairy dust, could work its magic and cast her spell upon him. She wanted to use all her feminine wiles to mesmerize and break this beautiful colt.

She wanted to playfully hit him and pretend-strangle him, and watch the mock fear rise up in his gaping eyeballs, powerless to resist this wicked demoness threatening to choke the life breath out of him. She would feel him give in to her, submit to her, enjoy her, and she would delight in the way he let her win.

She longed to tease him, to make him beg for mercy, and tickle him mercilessly - the sound of his laughter offering a comforting caress upon her soul - every chortle and snuffle and gaffaw that issued from him a chorus of manly notes to tickle her heart and massage the foundations of her feminine fancy.

Nelly suddenly transported back to the present, and noticed the warmth between her legs was now supplemented by wetness.

There she was in the middle of the kitchen, on her hands and knees, absentmindedly scrubbing away at a stubborn spot of grit on the linoleum floor, while her sudden, lust-induce fantasy was busy eliciting a trickle of hot, silky cream to spring from somewhere deep inside her loins, ease out between the petals of her flower and wet her panties.

Lust at first sight had seemed to possess her thoroughly.

Still caught in its grasp, oblivious to the activity going on around her, she arched her back instinctually, prompting her beautiful, round buttocks to present - like an urging; a willing; a demand! for his imagined member directly behind to penetrate deep inside her. She flexed tightly the muscles in the small of her back and squeezed her legs together, coaxing just a few more waves of pleasure to emit from her belly and course throughout her body .

She knew this was not the time for such sensual mind play. Not now! The wetness threated to become a torrent and wash them all away. She mused on that image. A fantastical visage unfurled before her mind's eye, and she watched transfixed on an old time movie reel in sepia tone:

All of them - The Young One, Fatty, Rudy, Truck Man... the whole damned truck itself - caught in a great whirlpool of her juices, flailing wildly, bobbing like buoys in its vortex, round and round, closer and closer to the event horizon of her lust, spiraling ever downward, funneled inevitably toward the point of no return, until, one by one, they dissapear into the drain at the pit of her womb, feeding her climax...

She hastened to snap out of her revery. What the hell am I doing?

Slowly she gathered herself. In a moment her heart rate slowed, her breathing became shallower, and, thanks be to the Gods, the juices flowing between her legs began to taper off before any embarrassing situation could arise. How awkward, she thought. Awe yeah...

But she knew this was but a temporary reprieve. When her body and mind spoke to her like that, when Lust at First Sight struck and sunk its teeth in with such ferocity, with such intensity, nothing would stop her from fulfilling the destiny it foretold.

Nelly stood up and took stock of the situation. The two blokes were droning on in the dining room, doing little to no work. Through the window, she saw the Truck Man standing at the back of the trailer peering inside and scratching his head, no doubt trying to figure out just how to assemble the next tier of furniture so that it wouldn't all come tumbling down upon the first pot-hole they encountered.

And he, The Young One, her stallion, was somewhere upstairs.

She made her way up the stairs knowing with every step that her lust could not be denied. She was not the kind of woman to just let Lust at First Sight fade away into 'what ifs' and 'if onlys'. She was sexually bold, the kind of woman to firmly take hold of, and feed off the sensual pleasure it promised. And she knew she had the sexual prowess to make it come to fruition.

She paused quietly at the doorway and peeked into the bedroom. There he was, and she watched him work for a moment. She touched herself.

He lay on the floor at the foot of the bed working to remove the fixtures from the bedframe. As he struggled with the fixtures, his legs kicked out and back steadyingly, helping him maintain his balance while propped on his shoulder and side.

She looked at the curve of his buttocks and thought of chiseled granite. She watched his glutes flex as his legs moved. The back pockets of his Levis moved in a dance of seduction, and her knuckles turned white as she made a fist and brought it to her mouth to stifle a moan. She studied his body, and it beckoned to her; a majesty of graceful lines shrouded in raw power... just like a Stallion!

The room was hot, the air humid, and she saw that his shirt was just as drenched with sweat as her panties were with cream.

In a moment, she settled coyly down beside him.

He detected her scent before even seeing her. He was compelled to breathe in the perfume of her wetness, and before bristling skin ever met bristling skin, his manhood began to stir, under command of her scent alone, toward arousal.

And when she herself sensed the masculine scent emitting from his golden, sweat-sheened skin, she pounced on him in a lusty embrace.

While the work of the move stalled - with only the two blokes to supply the Truck Man's palette of building blocks - the work in Nelly's bedroom proceeded at full bore behind locked doors.

The breaking of her wild stallion was no longer a flight of fancy, but fact, and Nelly bristled with satisfaction. Any spirited willfulness he possessed withered in the face of her sensuality, relinquished irrevocably the instant her tongue slithered past his guard, and calmed him with its wet caress.

And she bade him become her loyal workhorse.

His hands were rough and calloused. Her tongue smooth and warm, like wet silk.

He drank thirstily from her well, his Angel. She tasted like cinnamon and ginger to him, yet earthy, spiced with salt. The moments following her arrival had been raucously electifying and stunningly unexpected, almost numbing him in a state of disbelief. With every taste of her skin, every caress of her tongue upon his trembling body, every intoxicating breath of her perfume he pulled satisfyingly into his lungs, he began to feel a sense of rejuvination. This encounter was exactly the kick in the ass he'd needed low these many weeks to pull him out of the funk his life had decended into - the main reason for his aloofness and focus on his work. He could not have asked for a more perfect moment.

But any funks, depressions or dejections he'd suffered of late were not of her concern. Interest, infatuation, respect... they'd all been shown the door the moment her lust rose to overwhelm her. This was not about love and caring, about fostering a relationship. It was about sating immediate cravings. Lust loomed as her Master, and she its willing slave. Some compartment of her mind had identified these actions as crass and selfish, but her rambunctious nature did a splendid job of nullifying her better judgement.

In service to Lust's desire, she finally mounted her steed. She impaled herself upon The Young One's tool, beautifully sculpted in the most sumptuous of lines. Gorged with blood it pulsed inside her, heated and hard, a perfect fit; as if it had been forged directly from her dreams... made solely for her at Lust's decree.

And Lust at First Sight was never to be better served or represented than by the meeting of Nelly and the Mover.

The End

Word count: 2986