Rich Bitch Ariel has a go at the poor pool cleaner for leaves in the pool... and he gets his own back on her, dumping her in the cold water of the swimming pool!
Read Ariel's fantasy in her own words inside
Rich Bitch in the Pool Part One
It’s the hottest day of Summer so far, and I’m determined to do some hard work on my tan. I’m sick to death of the weather we’ve been having – what’s the point of having a private pool if the sun’s so watery and pathetic that you can’t enjoy it?
I’ve got a new bikini (£375, though my husband will NEVER know it cost quite so much) and I hope the pool boy will be at work; I want someone to appreciate how HOT I look, and my bloody husband won’t be home from the city for at least 7 more hours – I swear he spends that long at work just to irritate me…
Ohhh, the pool boy IS there – lovely dark skin and muscular body; he’s not wearing a shirt which suits me just fine. He’s also ignoring me, which is not. I’m his boss, so I’d like a little more attention since I’m sure cleaning the pool can’t be all that mentally taxing. Well strictly speaking my HUSBAND’s his boss, but that’s not really the point, I’m the one who’s here and in need of some TLC.
I walk up and down by the side of the pool, eying him from behind my shades. I might as well be invisible; he’s whistling as he hoses down the pool edges. Then he turns off the tap and picks up his bag as though he’s about to leave! I’m not having this! Searching for a reason to keep him here, I scan the pool. To my disgust (and delight) there’s a cockroach floating in the clear turquoise water. Yuk! It’s a perfect opportunity. ‘Hey, you!’ I call (I can’t remember his actual name, the things I call him in my head probably shouldn’t be said aloud). I point out the vile insect. Pent up frustration makes me shrill, but DAMN, it feels good to tell him off! He strolls a little closer, I talk a little louder.
‘You laze around here, enjoying MY pool, ruining my privacy and can’t even keep the water clean! LAZY! USELESS!’
His dark, straight brows draw together in a frown. It’s as though he’s actually seeing me for the first time. I wait for his stammered apologies, promises to treat me better. It’ll be an easy step from there to a flirtation, then more. But the apology doesn’t come.
‘A disgusting way to speak to your staff’. His voice is more cultured than I’d expected, more assured and a good deal more mature. ‘If I were actually your pool boy, I’d probably resign. But I’m afraid I’m not. Your husband hired me this summer to assess your suitability for inheritance if he decides to change his Will to include you. And from your behaviour so far, I can’t exactly recommend you; but I know exactly what I WOULD like to do with you’.
Ok, so this is a shock, but the result looks as though it could be pretty much the same. He comes closer, and ooh, he’s taller than me, he still looks angry, but he takes me by the arm…
Then, somehow, I’m in the freezing water (bloody husband hasn’t started heating it, even though I TOLD him to) and I realise that the ‘pool boy’ really is angry, and devastatingly, doesn’t seem to be gearing up for any kind of romance. He’s holding up a huge metal thing that looks like some medieval torture device he’s stolen from a museum. Too late, I realise that he’s reaching for me, but I can’t get away and he’s clamping the metal restraints around my neck and wrists…..
Rich Bitch in the Pool Part Two
It’s absolutely FREEZING, but that’s nothing compared to my fury. My neck is trapped in a wide metal collar and my wrists are also encased in metal, held out at shoulder level, away from my body. I don’t know what he thinks he’s doing; maybe I shouldn’t have shouted at him like that, but there’s no WAY my husband (the BASTARD) would have authorised this treatment!
Well, I’m certainly not standing for this, so I edge my way to the side of the pool and scramble up out of the water. Bloody hell, he notices what I’m trying to do immediately and pushes me back down. Next thing I know he’s yanked my bikini top off me and I just KNOW that he’s torn a strap! I swear at him and feel the brief joy of having scored a point; but before I can retreat back to the middle of the pool, he reaches down and yanks my bikini bottoms off too. This time they definitely tear, and I’m boiling with rage. I flounder back into the water and resume my verbal attack.
In the deeper water I feel less vulnerable, my nudity is hidden better but it’s horribly cold and I’m scared of slipping under – my arms would be useless to me and the heavy metal would weigh me down.
Still muttering obscenities, I make my way carefully back towards the side. I’m not going to ask him for help, I just hope that he’s had his fun and will let me go. Bloody WEIRDO! Maybe he IS employed by my husband, but he’s got no right to abuse me! I can’t believe I ever thought he was attractive….
He’s sneering down at me, and damn it, I DO still fancy him – can’t have him realising that though – it’s far too embarrassing, so I call him the worst name I can think of. He looks merely amused, and my eyes drift to a weird looking ball on a strap that he’s holding in his hand. What could that be for?
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