Autumn Morning*: Part I

Who's up for a story?
If you are like me, currently disgusted with the US political campaigns, then you might welcome this distraction. I do have plenty that I have been meaning to say about the campaigns, but I will spare you for the moment as I am most certain that is not the reason why you visit here.

Hope you enjoy this brief snippet of a story (*with the timely working title).

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D-ing, dddding.
Click, click.
“Good Morning…”
SLAM

Tap, tap, tap.
Click, Swish.
“Good Morning, How…”
SLAM

Tap, tap.
Tap, tap.
“Hello there…”
SLAM

R-ring, rrrrrinnggg.
Click.
“Good Morn’…”
SLAM

SLAM
SLAM
SLAM

SLAM!

“Dammit!”  she yelled out launching her clipboard and its contents towards the cold morning concrete. Walking away she wanted to scream out load, but instead simply clenched her fists and shook her head in frustration. Her pouty look resembling that of a 5 year more than the actual twenty-odd additional years of the young lady standing all alone in the deserted suburban street.


Spinning around on her heel she looked around for some acknowledgment of her justifiable frustration. She was greeted only by silence, not a single human sound broke the lazy Sunday morning still.

The cool morning breeze blew and began fanning the sheets of glossy paper attached to her abandoned clipboard, faster and faster. She immediately realized what was coming next and shuffled quickly back to save the reason for her early morning solicitations.

Too late.

A handful of papers made a successful escape and were airborne in seconds, scattering like bats. The wind huffed and blew again sending them further away as she began her chase.

She managed to catch a few of the stragglers when she suddenly felt a cold breeze. She froze and grabbed for her dress and pushed it down in haste.

Looking around anxiously, she peered left and right and up and down the street. Not another soul in sight.

“Thank Gawd,” she told herself happy that she had chosen to rescue her dress and save her modesty over the majority of the leaflets, which were now flying down the far end of the street.

Assuming that the wind had stopped, she bent over to rescue what was left of the flyers dangling to her clipboard. The wind huffed again and snuck up on her with an even stronger gust and sent her summer dress flying forward. The sudden cold breeze sent both her and her dress leaping. The lightweight material fluttered due east past the small of her back, stopped only by her flailing arms. She was left on full display from her belly button down to her heels with her bottom the center of attention. The transparency of her skintight white panties, increased further thanks to her bent over state, hiding almost nothing.

“FucDammitt! Dammit, dammit!” She fought helplessly against the wind, until it finally showed mercy and released her. She grabbed for her dress in a panic and pushed it down in haste.

Looking around anxiously, she peered left and right and up and down the street. Not another soul in sight.

“Thank Gawd,” she told herself happy that she had chosen to rescue her dress, and save her modesty, versus the majority of the flyers; which were now at the far end of the street. She stood still, holding tight to the hem of her dress, and listened.

Silence.

Gratefully not a sound, but for a baby crying in the distance. She knew how that little one felt, she felt the same. Stomping her feet in place, she closed her eyes and stood alone in the middle of the suburban street as the bright morning sun cast a spotlight on her lone figure.

………

Moments later Rebecca walked over and slammed herself down against the nearest  bus-stop bench, disillusioned with her hopes and goals for the day. She shot back up on impact as she had expected a soft cushion seat for some unknown reason, but was greeted instead by the reality of the stiff wood of the bench that easily penetrated her thin dress. "Is even a comfortable seat too much to ask for?" she groaned to herself.

How had her plans gone so wrong? She had gotten up uncharacteristically early this Sunday morning with every intent to conquer the day. She was up even before him. She had planned to be out of the house before he got up and leave him a note like the ones he often left her:

‘Didn’t want to wake you.
Off to work.
See you this afternoon.
Love ya,
R.’

Instead, she had tripped over her own uncollected clothes by the bed, in the process knocked over the lamp off the nightstand and rattled him awake.

“What the hell’s going on, Becca!?”

“Nothing. Nothing, go back to bed,” she chirped as she dropped to the floor on all fours, and scoured under the bed for her favorite flip-flops.

“Where’d you go?”

Her head popped up over the edge of the bed, “Here! I’m here. But I’m leaving go back to bed.”

"Where are you off to this hour? You never get up this early” he stared at her in concern.

“Remember, I start my ‘Get out the Vote’ job today. Didn’t mean to wake you, go back to bed,” she now whispered in hopes of luring him back to sleep.

She stood up and was about to lean over to kiss him goodbye when he grabbed her wrist.

“Slow down there, missy. Let me get some coffee and then I’ll give you a ride into town.”

“No, I don’t need your help!” she blurted out and instantly realized that did not come out the way she intended.

He looked at her squarely, then took an audible deep breath.

They had discussed this previously at length. She had taken this job to prove to him, to prove to herself, that she could do things more than just handing the everyday household chores and looking after the two dogs. He never put her down or pushed her to contribute financially to their simple lifestyle yet she felt his disapproval figuratively, and often physically when she overspent. It wasn’t entirely her fault she would tell herself. She was still young and she wanted to hang out with friends and spend nights in the city dining, dancing, and drinking. Sure her friends all were self-sufficient, or so it seemed, and she wasn’t extravagant comparatively, but who could blame a girl for wanting a new outfit for each night out on the town. Besides, he had given her the okay to use his credit card early on. Despite his disapproval of her irresponsible spending habits, he wasn't sure this door-to-door job was the answer; not to mention he did not like all the potential safety issues associated with the nature of it.

She was about to walk away before either of them said something that would drag them back into recent arguments, when he broke the uncomfortable silence, “You are changing right?”

She looked at him and then down at her outfit, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with what I have on?”

“Really, young lady?” he looked at her from top to bottom. “You are representing our Country, our right to vote; you should be dressed appropriately….”
She glanced at the alarm clock showing ten minutes before the hour; fifteen before the bus was scheduled to pull up.

“Fine! What do you suggest I wear?!” she gave in with snapped response wanting to both avoid one of his long boring patriotic lectures and most importantly avoid missing her bus.

“A dress for starters…”

She stopped, rolled her eyes and spun around.

He sat up in bed in order to best watch the amusing show that he knew was coming. She immediately dropped backward on the bed and frantically began undoing buttons. The unchoreographed dance began with her comical shimming out of her skin tight jeans that seemed to gain minimal distance despite her great effort and her accompanying chorus of controlled grunts and moans (that reminded him of other familiar sounds).
 
Finally able to release herself from the confines of the denim she threw them to the ground with dramatic effort, but was rewarded with minimal sound. Jumping up she continued her race to get undressed and redressed as quickly as possible as she swung open the closet door with a jolt. Her back to him, he fixated on the last remaining remnant of her original outfit as he decided to give her another order.

“And another thing,”he began as she slammed the closet door having retrieved the very first dress she laid eyes on.

“What?”

“Switch your panties…”

“Excuse me?!” she began ready to protest.

“You need to calm down a little, young lady. You are way to wound up this morning. Therefore you need a little helper now and a little reminder to help you through the day."

She gasped, wide mouthed and speechless in his direction. Despite the fact he wasn't standing over her, and merely sitting up in bed made no difference, as his firm look made it clear that he wasn't kidding.

"Go ahead, you know what to do. Go ahead, put on a pair of your humble panties” he directed.

She finished yanking the dress over her head and was flattening it down over her curves frantically as she turned to the clock again; top of the hour already.

Shaking her head she gave in to his added demand only in hopes of still catching her bus. She reached under her dress and with a sway to the left, another to the right, then left again she rolled down her panties to her knees. He was about to continue his lecture when she sling-shoted a wad of fabric at his face. He caught it and without missing a beat brought her pale blue panties to his face and inhaled.

She turned to the dresser too anxious to respond to his perverse actions, and instead rummaged wildly through her top drawer before ultimately pulling out a white swatch of cotton. She peered past the bed and out the bedroom window to the road below looking for signs of the bus as she struggled to get her feet into the tiny leg holes without looking down. She pulled the panties up quickly as their transparency seemed to become more noticeable with every tug, in particular as they stretched over her thighs.

A distant rumbling of diesel engine broke their momentary silence as she grabbed her corked heels in one hand and raced for the bedroom door. She glanced back at him ready to say goodbye as she swung the door open and the morning sunlight flooded through the doorway behind her.

His eyes dilated at the sight now before him, and he began to speak slowly,
“Just a minute, young lady, I think you need to reconsider that dr…”

She wasn’t listening and cut him off  “I’m leaving! Hope you’re happy now; I might miss my bus” she blurted out and without further farewell ran out the room.

Tossing sheets aside, he rose from the bed to get a clear view out the window. Like a naked sentry at full attention, he watched over her as she ran barefoot down the dirt path towards the country road fronting their home. She was waving frantically at the approaching bus with one hand while the other held a jumbled combination of job materials, purse, and heels. He had to admit one thing, he told himself; despite her moods she always looked beautiful, especially today.

No doubt the dress showcased her overall figure, but he was fixated on an added detail. Even at this distance, thanks to the bright morning sun, her white panties were clear as day underneath the sun-drenched fabric. Furthermore, the outlines of the comparatively tiny panties seemed to highlight, their losing struggle to barely cover her ample, ripe ass.

He'd go after her before she embarrassed herself too much, he thought, but first things first.

Turning to attend to other matters he suddenly realized he still held her panties in his hand. He unraveled the pale blue cloth, took another deep sniff before draping them onto his morning erection. He wrapped them around his manhood and pulled them tight until his throbbing stiffness nearly burst through the delicate backside of stretched rayon. "You should know better than to go out dressed like that," he shook his head, "You have a lesson coming to you, young lady. A very stiff lesson."


But first coffee.

.………

So what did you all think of our little Polltaker Rebecca?
Worth reading more about her? and what about him?
Worth a Part II?

Oh and by the way, apologies that the photo details don't match the story exactly (that is if  you are concerned about that stuff), but they are always just meant as visual guide.

.………
UPDATE:
If you enjoyed this chapter, perhaps you would be interested in reading more about the misadventures of our little Polltaker Rebecca. If so, Part II has been published and can be found HERE. However, fair warning although there are the typical elements found in most of my stories, Part II contains some elements which, how do I state it, involve a bit more graphic descriptions that might not be to everyone's likings, but still done in good taste in my opinion.