Read an Excerpt
Alice liked the roar of the power mower and the smell of freshly-cut grass. The trickle of sweat beneath her breasts and the pull in her bare arms and thighs made her feel like a real dyke, like the great tennis player who had hired her to groom her immense back lawn. Alice tried to ignore the throbbing of the motor as she wondered if she should consider a career as a landscape gardener.
Felicity Pakingham stood on her deck, gin-and-tonic in hand, watching the college student in shorts and halter top who rode her mower up and down the lawn, dividing it into neat sections. Felicity could see Alice’s breasts bouncing from metres – or yards – away.
Squinting toward the sun, Alice was dazzled by the copper-coloured beacon of Felicity’s very short hair. Ten years before, a sports reporter had named her “The Red Queen” after a merciless ruler in a fantasy chess game which had preceded all the currently-popular computer games by over a century. The name had inspired cartoon portraits of Felicity, including a computerized image of a tennis-playing queen. None of these caricatures did justice to the real woman’s bold-featured beauty.
Felicity knew that she was slightly past her prime as an athlete, but her muscles were still sleek and hard. She could see that Alice was not used to sustained physical effort, but she could tolerate discomfort. The girl’s pampered young curves and her determination both tickled Felicity, who smiled down as though at a worthy opponent. The prospect of an interesting game made her aware of her hands and her clit.
Alice looked up to see the enigmatic smile of her idol, and felt herself blushing.
“Would you like to take a break?” called Felicity in a voice full of hearty cheer, but with an insinuating undertone. “You must be thirsty. A cold drink will revive you.” Alice almost fell off the mower in gratitude.
Climbing the wooden steps to the deck, Alice touched the cotton scrunchy that held her chestnut hair in a ponytail to keep it off her face. Even still, sweaty tendrils had to be pushed off her forehead. She wondered if her movements looked awkward to the Red Queen, whose body language was always elegantly direct.
“I have gin, scotch, beer and lemonade,” offered Felicity, playing the hostess. “You may have whichever you like, but alcohol will make you feel hotter when you get back to work.”
Alice couldn’t look into the sparkling blue eyes of her idol. “Then I’d like lemonade, please,” she answered demurely.
“You’re a good girl, aren’t you, dear?” purred Felicity, almost laughing openly. “Come into the kitchen. I’ll get your lemonade from the fridge.”
Standing in the cool, gleaming shade of Felicity’s kitchen, Alice regarded the offered glass bottle as a welcome distraction. Felicity held the girl’s outstretched hand in both of hers for a moment, and her touch felt electric to Alice. “You want to do a good job, don’t you?”