As she moved through the four-bedroom house, making sure it looked presentable, Rachel was reminded of the soreness of her vagina. Ainsley had really gone to town on her yesterday with the strap on, practically fucking her senseless with it! It had been exactly what Rachel had wanted. She may be off men but sometimes a good, deep pounding was what her pussy needed and Rachel had learned yesterday that even though a dildo might not be made of warm flesh, it had the all-important benefit of not coming after only a minute or two and going limp.
Yesterday, Ainsley and her blue dildo had given Rachel all that she could take, first from behind and then with Ainsley atop her in the missionary position. The combined sensations of being stuffed with deep and hard thrusts and of Ainsley’s nipples brushing against her own had worked together to make Rachel’s second orgasm a shattering one which had exhausted her with its intensity.
Even now, despite the soreness below her waist, Rachel felt her clit twitch at the memory, knowing that sore or not she’d let Ainsley do it all to her again tonight.
She suddenly stopped her inspection of the empty house as another thought came to her.
Off men…
Was she off men?
Like for good?
In all honesty, she hadn’t really considered it, certainly not like that. What she did know was that since becoming involved with Ainsley, she hadn’t once thought about any guy as a potential romantic or sexual partner. And that alone was saying something! This was Southern California. Beautiful and well-built men practically grow on trees here. Even the cashier at Von’s yesterday, where Rachel and Ainsley had stopped off to buy some wine, could have a career as a Calvin Klein model. Yet whatever it was that had caused her to metaphorically drool over such guys previously was no longer there—or at least had been switched off. Yesterday’s cashier had been just that to Rachel: just some guy who was ringing up their bottle of Riesling.
Right now, all Rachel’s body craved was Ainsley. All she wanted to discover were more new, fun and even unusual ways for them to get each other off because her sex life had never been this good!
So, yes, she was off men. If that changed sometime in the murky future, she’d deal with it then. But thinking about it now, Rachel just knew it wasn’t going to change.
She heard a car door shut outside. Her clients were here. Smoothing her pencil skirt and then buttoning the fitted blue blazer she was wearing, Rachel hurried to the front door.
***
The meeting at Chase bank went well. The loan officer in charge of small business loans was encouraging, letting Rachel know that unless things changed drastically with her financial situation she could expect to get at least the amount she had guesstimated needing. He was particularly impressed with Rachel’s notion that instead of renting expensive office space, she could make use of a service like WeWork or another shared-office outfit. The truth was, as a real estate agent, Rachel could do most of her work from her house. And when she did have to meet with clients other than at a listing, she always preferred meeting them in a casual, relaxed environment such as a coffeeshop or a nice bar. She had even met one client at McDonald’s because she had two small kids with her who played in the playground while mommy talked real estate with Rachel. However, if she ever did need to meet a client in a more professional setting, making use of a shared-office kind of set-up would be more than suitable. Doing so would save her future brokerage a lot of overhead costs when compared to leasing full-time office space.
The success of her discussion with the bank put Rachel in a great mood. Good thing, too; because her next showing was with the Crawleys and Rachel thought that being in such a good mood might help prevent her from murdering the male half of that couple.
Parking outside the listing, Rachel thought for a moment.
This house was for sale for $625,000. Given Mr. Crawley’s past history of ridiculous offers, Rachel guessed that he would insist she offer $550,000 even though Rachel would tell him she expected the house would sell at $630,000—at least. Even though the house was nowhere near the beach, it was on a large lot, had two stories, three bedrooms and was in a great neighborhood.
She tapped $550,000 into the Notes app on her phone. She told herself that if she came within $10,000 either above or below that number, she’d treat herself to a caramel latte at La Vida Mocha.
During the showing, Rachel kept her eyes on Mrs. Crawley—Malina, as she insisted on being called. As with the other properties Rachel had shown this couple, Malina was clearly in love with this house. That became even more evident when Rachel took them to the backyard and showed them the large work shed that was in one corner of the yard. Malina had once told Rachel that her hobby was sculpting and Rachel pointed out how this shed would be the perfect workshop for such an activity.
“Okay, so what do you think?” Rachel asked several minutes later when the tour was over.
“Love it!” Malina enthused. “I wasn’t even imagining that we could afford a place in Carlsbad.”
“People always think that,” Rachel said with a laugh. “But there are reasonably priced options if you know where to look.”
“This isn’t bad,” Mr. Crawley—Dan (which Rachel thought suited him for some reason)—said. He always said that, obviously trying to sound disinterested, as if doing so would somehow magically lower the price. “How much is it again?”
Rachel sighed inwardly. Such a Dan-type question.
“$625,000,” she told him, knowing he already knew the answer.
Dan looked at his wife with what Rachel imagined was his “pondering” face.
“I think we should offer five-hundred,” he stated.
Rachel wasn’t sure she heard correctly.
Five-hundred? Five-hundred thousand?
Rachel was stunned—and disappointed; she really wanted that caramel latte.
$500,000 was not an offer! It couldn’t even be called an insult! It was offensive! This house would have to literally have no roof in order for it to sell at $500,000!