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The Accidental Sugar Daddy Pt. 01

I wake up slowly, reluctant to leave that soft, drowsy space half between sleep and consciousness. Reluctant to leave that lovely space where it's hard to recall what day it is and way too early to think about work. Slowly I realise that it's a Tuesday. I've been woken by the soft hiss of the shower from the ensuite, where my partner Sandy is getting ready for work. I glance at the glowing red numerals on the digital clock and groan: it's only 5:30. Still, early starts are common if you're cabin crew.

In the half-light I see her step into the bedroom, drying her arms with a fluffy white towel that she drops on the edge of the bed before getting dressed, pulling on some plain, black underwear then sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling on tights. Despite being in her early forties, she's still a sexy woman and I feel a warm flicker of arousal as I watch her slide the sheer black nylon up over her shapely legs.

Before long she's dressed in a crisp white shirt and a fitting navy skirt. She somehow looks both cute and sexy at the same time in uniform, and it reminds me of when we first met a few years back when I was returning from visiting my twin brother in the states.The Accidental Sugar Daddy Pt. 01 фото

"Hope I didn't wake you," she whispers as she leans in close and I can smell her fresh, lemony perfume as she kisses my forehead.

"No, that's okay, I wanted to say goodbye anyway," I reply, sliding a hand around her neck and pulling her in for a proper, lingering kiss. She's fresh from the shower, her skin flushed and she tastes of minty toothpaste.

"I've got to go," she says when our lips finally part. "There's a couple of helpings of lasagna in the freezer to finish off."

"Mmm, you look so sexy in that uniform, why don't you come back to bed for a bit?" I suggest sliding a hand down over her back and gently squeezing the firm curve of her arse through the tight material of her navy skirt.

"Taxi's her in twenty minutes, lover boy," she chuckles, a hand on my shoulder, gently pushing me away. "Why don't you save it for when I'm back?"

I groan as she gives me a final peck on the forehead and I'm already half asleep when I hear the taxi leave for Gatwick.

Sandy's been doing longer hours now that she's made senior cabin crew. She's way too kind-hearted in my opinion; she should be doing two shorter duties over the next couple of weeks but a colleague is unwell so she offered to cover, hence this unusual ten-day stretch.

Several hours later I'm sitting in the kitchen eating toast and checking the emails and calendar on my laptop. For the last couple of years I've been running this small carpentry business with my friend Terry after quitting my job in the city. We do the kind of small, bespoke work that the big companies won't touch: handmade, fitted units for kitchens, bespoke staircases, custom furniture, that sort of thing. It's a quieter day for me today, just one appointment to talk about replacing a stair rail then I think I'll probably spend the rest of the day checking over the accounts and finishing a couple of quotes I've been putting off.

"Morning," a drowsy voice calls out, making me look up. I watch her stretch, then yawn and run a hand through her coppery hair.

Sam is Sandy's daughter, in her final year at uni and back home for another four weeks or so. Like her mother she's short and petite with dark green eyes. Unlike her mother she has fiery red hair which is centre-parted and hangs in loose, shoulder-length waves that frame a pale, cherubic face, her lips seemingly set in a permanent pout.

Their personalities are different too: Sandy is hard-working and generous and usually in a good mood despite the pressures of her career. But I've always found Sam to be a bit moody, a bit needy, a little rebellious and argumentative, someone who likes to test the boundaries. Perhaps it's just her age, Sandy often tells me that she was a little wild and contrary when she was twenty.

It looks like she's going out for a run. It's early June and I suppose it's because of the heatwave that she's chosen a pair of tight, stretchy black running shorts and a loose, grey, sleeveless t-shirt. She sits down opposite me and tucks into a bowl of granola, and I try not to stare as her t-shirt gapes at the front, giving me a flash of her pert boobs encased in a tight black sports bra.

Strictly speaking she's my stepdaughter and I think about saying something but maybe it's better to pretend I haven't noticed her skimpy clothes. The fact is I'm not her father and so I usually leave that sort of thing for her mother to deal with. Sandy got married and had Sam when she was only in her early twenties. She got divorced soon after and I often wonder if the absence of a father figure for most of her life has led to her sometimes bratty, mischievous nature. Sandy also tells me that her father always felt guilty about leaving her, and when she was younger tried to make up for it by buying Sam extravagant gifts for her birthdays and at Christmas.

"Got any plans today?" I ask, watching her spoon cereal into her mouth as she stares intently at her mobile, her thumb scrolling up and down.

"A shift at the cafe, but I should be back by three. Oh, and I might go out with Shawna later to a party. You?" she says, without looking up from her phone.

"Just got one customer visit then I should be here this afternoon... so I guess I'll see you later," I reply, getting up and putting my plate in the dishwasher.

Mr and Mrs Jeffries turn out to be a lovely old couple that live in a cottage on the edge of the local woods. It's typical of the kind of house we see, a thirties cottage with a quirky, hand-crafted staircase that folds around a corner of the hallway. Mr Jeffries is hard of hearing so his wife does most of the talking whilst he tries to follow what's going on by lip reading.

"It's the stair rails, you see," she explains. "It's always been a bit wobbly but it's got worse recently."

"I see," I say, watching as she demonstrates by grabbing the wooden rail and wobbling it to-and-fro.

They watch patiently as I kneel down and examine the newel post. I can see that there doesn't seem to be any rot, it just looks like it had worked loose after many years of use, and Mrs Jeffries said that they'd lived there for twenty years and just noticed it getting worse gradually, so that made sense. I explain that the movement in the uprights had then also caused the guardrail to loosen as well.

I took them through some different options on my phone but they just wanted a like-for-like replacement which makes things straightforward. They also want some internal doors replaced and I tell them I'd be happy to include that in the quote.

It was another warm day and I opened some windows and the big bifold doors that led onto the patio when I got back. After making myself a sandwich for lunch I fetched my laptop and sat down at the kitchen counter to start work on several outstanding quotes. I'd normally work in the spare bedroom that we'd converted into a home office, but it was much cooler down here working on the marbled granite worktop that Sandy insisted we get after we bought this place.

--

After a solid two hours of work, I'd gotten through all of my emails and made a start on the three quotes I had that were outstanding. I didn't look up until I heard Sam get back from the cafe.

"Hi, I'm home," I heard her call.

"Hi," I said, looking up. She was still in her work uniform, looking almost as smart as her mother in a crisp white shirt with the cafe's logo on the breast pocket, and black knee-length skirt.

"Man, it was so hot on the bus, I got all sweaty, I'm going to get a shower," she explained, popping her head around the door.

I hear her run up the stairs as my phone rings. It's Terry, just checking in and wanting an update on outstanding quotes and I explain that I was hoping to work through at least two today. I met Terry just after I met Sandy, another really fortunate moment in my life. I'd just quit my job as a financial controller in a large corporation in Canary Wharf. I really had to, the stress of fifty or sixty hour weeks had started to take a toll on my health and eventually had led to me really having to take time off on the advice of my GP. Luckily I had enough money to simply walk away and start again down here in West Sussex, near where I grew up.

I met Terry at a party, it turned out his brother was in the same class as me at school. He was a joiner by trade and was working independently doing carpentry and other types of domestic handiwork. He was very good with his hands, he explained, but not so good with finances or marketing or with computers generally. Initially I agreed to help him out with the accountancy, part-time at first but I soon found that he hadn't been lying when he told me that he wasn't good with the technical side. When I first sat down, I was shocked to find that there were emails from weeks ago that he still hadn't even acknowledged. It took me a couple of weeks of sending apologetic replies before we were back on an even keel.

Over the last couple of years I'd also started going out on jobs with him as a labourer, gradually learning some of his more basic skills. My uncle was a carpenter and I'd spent many hours of my childhood helping out in his shed so it wasn't all new to me.

A year ago, we'd formally become partners, although I still did most of the accountancy and he still did most of the actual labouring, along with his apprentice son Eamon, who helped out part-time.

Business was good, Terry was a skilled workman and it turned out that all he needed was some support on the technical and marketing side so our skills complemented each other.

I was chatting with him about the upcoming jobs and thinking about whether to pitch the quotes a little higher given how much work we had on the books when I saw Sam reappear with her yoga mat tucked under one arm, her copper hair pulled back with a green hair clamp. She padded past me on bare feet and rolled it out on a shady part of the patio before starting some gentle stretching.

Terry rang off soon after and I got back to the spreadsheet that I used to estimate material and labour costs. The job for the elderly couple I saw this morning would be straightforward: they already had a relative lined up to remove the old staircase so just two men for the first day to do all the heavy lifting and get the structure in place, then maybe just one for a second day to finish off and make good.

It should have been a straightforward calculation but I kept being distracted by Sam.

She looked so lithe and flexible as she knelt on all fours stretching her right arm and left leg in opposite directions, a little bit like she was pointing at something in the distance. My eyes lingered on her slim, tight young body as she sat back, her backside on her feet and leaning back, placing her hands on her heels. She lifted her hips, slowly easing them higher, her back arching, her head thrown back, her red hair hanging straight down between her arms, her yoga pants stretched tight over her pubic mound. She was wearing a tight, pale pink crop top that exposed her toned stomach and hugged her modest but perky boobs. The evening light cut across her, throwing her curves into sharp relief and I couldn't look away as she stretched a little further, the soft light revealing the subtle curves of her breasts. I know I really should haven't been looking that closely but it was clear she wasn't wearing a bra, her nipples dimpling the thin material.

"Damn," I muttered, shaking my head a little as I reluctantly tore my eyes away and tried to concentrate on the spreadsheet. I forced myself to focus and managed to finalise the figures before being distracted again.

She was on all fours now, her back to me, the slate grey lycra of her yoga shorts doing little to hide the firm roundness of her buttocks. She was arching her back one way then the other, concave to convex, 'cat and cow' I think they call it. Then she slid her long arms along her mat, stretching forwards, her chin on the mat now, her bottom sticking up. As she eased into the submissive-looking pose, her knees spread wide, her back curving I couldn't help but stare at her gorgeously pert arse. Her buttocks were small and tight and looked like each would fit neatly into one of my hands.

"Damn," I muttered under my breath as she stretched a little further, her tight, spankable little bottom swaying provocatively and making the lingering summer heat feel all the warmer. As she moved back and forth to stretch her muscles her lewd, provocative pose caused all kinds of inappropriate thoughts to dance through my mind. I knew it was wrong, but a wicked little voice at the back of my mind kept asking, if she didn't want me to look, why was she dressed so provocatively? Why was she doing her yoga right in front of me?

She was only a few yards away, how would she react if I were to slide a hand over her bottom, test its youthful, rounded firmness? Would she moan encouragingly if I slowly ran my hand along the firm muscle of her thighs?

I felt my cock stir as I watched her move back and forth, my imagination running wild now. Would she yelp if I playfully slapped one of those gorgeous buttocks? Would she protest if I slid my hands between her hot thighs examining her soft folds through the thin lycra? Would she resist if I grabbed the waistband and wriggled it lower over her moist skin, easing it down inch by inch...

I was still staring, lost in my inappropriate thoughts when she finished her stretch and abruptly got to her feet. I quickly looked down at my laptop, pretending to be engrossed in my work as she strode into the kitchen. I hoped she hadn't noticed the bulge in my shorts or the way I'd been ogling her fit young body, and felt my cheeks burn red as she headed towards the cupboard behind me.

"Phew, it's hot, huh? You want some water?" she asked as she stretched up and retrieved a glass.

"Um, yeah, sure," I said, my eyes fixed to the screen.

"Looks like this weather isn't going to change any time soon, huh?" she continued as she filled them from the tap and placed one next to me, the glass tapping against the marble worktop. "Have you been at this since lunch? You should take a break."

"Yeah, I want to get this finished but I'm struggling a bit."

"What's the problem?" she said, stepping close and reading what I'd got so far.

I could feel the heat from her young body as she read over my shoulder. I was seated on a stool, my head level with her boobs and up close it was clear it was even more obvious that she wasn't wearing anything beneath her top. I struggled to keep my eyes on the screen and avoid staring at the way the damp material clung to her perky breasts, her nipples pressing against the tight fabric. Her skin was flushed, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, a few tendrils of her auburn hair clinging to her damp forehead.

"Looks good, but you're struggling with the labour costs?" she asked, using a finger to hook a limp strand of hair and sweep it behind her ear.

I explained my dilemma: it was a really cool project, a treehouse for a couple of twins, ten-year old boys. I really wanted to do the project, it was exactly the kind of thing I would have loved when I was ten, but I knew Terry would insist we turned a profit.

"You should put in a lower quote, be prepared to do it at cost if you're that keen," she suggested. "If you're into it, you'll do a really good job, and he'll recommend you to his neighbours. Plus, you can get some great photos for your website."

"That's... that's actually a good call," I said. "Thanks."

"No problem," she said. "What's for dinner tonight?"

"Oh, I thought I'd just heat up that lasagna that your mother left and throw together a green salad."

"Sounds good, I love mum's lasagna," she said, picking up her mat and heading back upstairs. "I'll be down later."

After we ate, I settled down on the sofa whilst she disappeared upstairs to get ready for her party.

The rule in our house is that if one person cooks, another does the clearing up so I relaxed, putting my feet up and making myself comfortable as I flicked through the channels looking for something to watch when she reappeared wearing a strappy green top, a pair of skin-tight blue jeans and a disarming smile.

"Hey, I'm running a little late, you don't mind clearing up do you, just this once?" she asked, moving closer, one knee on the couch.

"Come on, you know the rules: one person cooks, the other stacks the dishwasher."

"Yeah, but just this once," she said, squeezing my arm and leaning in so close that I could sense the warm scent of her perfume. "Please."

"Alright, just this once, I guess," I said, shaking my head. I was such a doormat sometimes.

"You're the best, thanks," she replied, planting a kiss on my cheek. I got to my feet, rubbing at the lipstick mark as she skipped towards the door, her car keys jingling.

"Hey, remember to be back before midnight!" I called after her as the door slammed, more in hope than expectation. Well, I guess it would be nice to spend the evening on my own for a change, I thought, shaking my head as I began to stack the dishwasher.

--Sam

Sam glanced down at the dashboard as she drove back from the party. As they approached the speed camera she made sure she was well below the thirty miles-per-hour limit. The road was quiet at this time of night, so she took her time, slowly cruising along the dual carriageway.

She'd had one drink at the start of the evening so she'd be fine, but it still wouldn't

be great to be stopped by the police. It was clear that her friend Shawna had had too much and there was no telling what she might say, what kind of trouble she might talk them into.

"Damn, I love this song," Shawna said, leaning forward and turning the radio up, the amber street lights shining on the ebony skin of her arm as she stretched forward.

Shawna was her oldest friend. They'd first met when she was seated next to her at school when they were both twelve. Sam soon found out that her one-parent family had moved down from South London after a messy divorce. They'd become fast friends; Sam was quiet and introverted and the street-wise Shawna helped her out with the bullies that picked on her. In return, Sam acted as her guide to the local area.

"I wish you'd talk, talk, wish you'd talk, talk," Shawna sang, drunkenly out of tune as Sam indicated and slowed before turning off the main road.

Ahead of them, a flash of lightning arced towards the skyline, briefly lighting a stormy-looking sky.

"Woah, did you see that!" Shawna exclaimed.

"Yeah, I think there's a storm on the way."

"Man, I don't like storms, always feel relieved when they've moved on. A bolt of lightning hit our neighbours tree when I was young, made a hell of a noise, like a bomb going off!"

"Hmm, you know I find them quite exciting, I love all the pure elemental energy. Wouldn't mind a bit of cooler weather either."

"Yeah, it's still too damn hot," she continued, fanning her face as she hummed along to the radio. "Hey, did you see Matt try to snog me? God, he's such a loser."

"When was that? When you were dancing with him?"

"I wasn't dancing with him," she protested, loosely shaking her head. "We both just happened to be dancing at the same time in the same place. Anyway, where were you?"

Sam sighed, house parties weren't half as much fun when you had to be the sensible one who wasn't drinking.

"Wasn't in the mood," she replied.

"Didn't you fancy any of the boys? How about Glen? He's alright."

"Yeah, I guess," Sam replied without any enthusiasm. "I don't know, they all just seemed so... immature."

"Of course they're immature, they're like nineteen or twenty, what do you expect? You're too picky. Boy's are always too dumb or too quiet or too, I don't know, dull. This is why you ain't had a shag in months."

 

Sam shook her head, but her friend had a point, it had been nearly six months since she'd split up with Alfie.

"I know what you mean though. Most of the lads there tonight just wanted a quick grope and a snog so they could boast how they got off with you to their mates,"

Shawna continued. "We deserve someone better than Matthew Phillips, someone more worldly, more refined."

"Yeah," Sam agreed as she slowed for another speed camera. "You know what we need? A couple of super-rich sugar daddies."

"Ha! Yes! Now you're talking!" Shawna said loudly, clapping her hands together. "Some nice, rich, good-looking sugar daddies to take us to fancy restaurants and cocktail lounges, and buy us expensive clothes. Is that too much to ask for a couple of hotties like us?"

"Definitely the least we deserve," Sam replied, laughing along with her friend.

"Hey, talking of sugar daddies, what about your stepdad?"

"He's not really my stepdad, just my mother's boyfriend. What about him?"

"Well, he's good-looking, well travelled, well off, owns his own business. Bet he's good in bed too."

"Shawna, how much have you had to drink, girl?"

"Come on, wake up, he's such a DILF, girl. He's funny and charming and clean-cut. Did I mention well-off? And he's got that whole dad-bod thing going on. He's a nice guy, too, you know, like humble and that. You must have thought about it."

"No! Well, not really, but he's older than us. Like thirty eight, or something"

"So? He's fucking hot. I'd let him take me out to a posh restaurant, invite him in for a coffee, let him have a little feel," Shawna said, slurring her words a little.

"Shawna! Too much!" Sam shrieked. "God, you're such a slut when you've had a couple of drinks."

"Yeah, I'm right though, aren't I, eh? Eh? You've definitely thought about him like that, definitely," she said, poking Sam's denim thighs. "Come on, be honest."

"Oh look, we're here," Sam said, sounding more relieved than she intended as she pulled the car to a stop outside a modest three bed semi.

"What, already? Oh mate, well thanks for giving me a lift, you're like the best, bestie," Shawna said, leaning over and pursing her lips, her ruby lip gloss shining in the dim light.

Sam twisted away from Shawna, giggling and closing her eyes as she felt her friend wrap an arm around her reluctant shoulders, pull her close and plant several sloppy wet kisses on her cheek.

"Urghh," she grunted, pushing her friend away. "OK, enough, enough!"

She wound the window down, wiping away the lipstick with a tissue as she watched her friend get out and stagger unsteadily towards her front door, a cool breeze tugging at her thin summer dress, the material rippling around her knees.

"And drink some water!" she shouted after her.

It was another ten minutes or so back to her own house, which gave Sam a little time to think about what Shawna had said. She hadn't been entirely honest; she had thought about Pete in that way a couple of times, usually late at night. She had to admit that she had a point: Pete was likeable and kind and smart, all the things she valued in a man. He had a good body too, all the physical work he did had given him a lean, compact physique. She suspected Shawna was right about him being good in bed too.

She'd never admit it to Shawna but sometimes she heard them late at night when she couldn't sleep or she'd stayed up watching something on her laptop. Particularly recently, when all the windows in the house were open on these hot summer nights. Their detached house was quiet in the early hours of the morning, just the distant hum of traffic breaking the silence.

It was usually her mother that she heard, soft moans drifting through her open window. The first time it had happened she thought she might just be imagining it, but then they'd come again, a little louder now, her mother sounding like she was having a really good evening.

Usually, she'd put her noise-cancelling headphones on and try to get some sleep, but if she was in the mood, she'd quietly listen, her eyes shut. She wasn't wearing much in bed during this heat wave, just a thin silky camisole over her panties. She might let her hands stray over her body, over the subtle curves of her breasts, her toned stomach, her warm silky thighs as she listened and imagined what they were doing.

She'd listen as her mothers' moans grew louder and more urgent, she'd tease her nipples, circling the taut buds, stroking them through the silk, feeling them come alive. The fingers of her other hand would have stray down over her hot body and would be drawing circles on the inside of her widely spread thighs, lightly brushing the increasingly damp lace of her panties, her hips beginning to move. She'd bite her lip to suppress her hot groans as she plucked and pulled at one of her achingly hard nipples, her other hand exploring the swollen contours of her pussy now as she imagined all the dirty things they were doing a few metres away.

Before long, she'd lift her hips, impatiently shimmying her panties down over her long legs. She'd feel a hot surge of pleasure as she teased herself, sliding a soft fingertip along the length of her swollen nether lips, glistening wetly in half-light of the moon. She'd begin to rub herself there, the pads of her fingers describing slow circles over her needy pussy, putting her other hand over her mouth to suppress her increasingly urgent moans as she heard the sounds from the other room intensify.

She'd hear the telltale sound of the bed creaking, and the soft moans had become rhythmic, a hot mixture of needy sobs and pants that made it clear what was happening as her hot breath whistled through her nostrils.

Sometimes she'd close her eyes and imagine it was Pete's hands clamped over her mouth. It was one of her favourite fantasies: he'd hear her moans late at night, and would come to investigate what the noise was. She'd be lost in her own pleasure, her eyes squeezed shut, her panties stretched tight over her knuckles as her hand stroked her needy pussy. She wouldn't notice him standing in the doorway watching her. She'd picture him naked apart from a pair of black shorts, a solid-looking bulge forming as he watched. He'd cross the room in three quick steps, moving as quietly as a panther stalking its prey. Her shocked eyes would fly wide open when she felt his weight on the bed, but before she could make a noise she'd feel his strong hand clamping over her mouth, muffling her startled cry. He'd look down at her, pressing his finger to his lips, making the universal signal for silence.

Of course, she'd struggle but what could she do except put up some token resistance against someone so much bigger and stronger? She pictured herself squirming helplessly as his big hands roughly pulled at her skimpy panties and camisole, quickly stripping her naked. She would picture him, running his hungry eyes over her, feasting on her nakedness, a frown clouding his face as she covered herself, one hand between her thighs, the other across her chest, playing the demure, virginal innocent.

"Please," she'd say, although not too loudly as he angrily pulled her hands away, his dark eyes flashing her a warning look. She would imagine him grabbing both her slender wrists in one big hand and pinning them to the bed above her head, leaving his other hand free to caress her naked flesh. She'd stare up at him defiantly, determined not to show him how aroused she was as he squeezed a taut nipple between thumb and forefinger, his lips curling into a wicked smile as she looked away, unable to suppress a hot, muffled gasp as he toyed with her sensitive bud.

Usually she'd fantasize about him fucking her missionary style, his solid weight between her widely spread legs pinning her to the mattress as he fucked her with long, steady strokes, feeling his hot breath against her shoulder. Of course, she'd struggle as those thick powerful thighs drove his cock deep inside her but what could she do with his hands clamped around her slender wrists, pinning her hands to the bed as he drove her closer and closer to a delicious climax?

If she was in the mood for something stronger, she'd imagine him tying her hands using the belt from her robe, and stuffing her panties into her mouth. With her hands bound, she'd be unable to stop him flipping her over onto all fours and roughly taking her from behind like an animal, using her body to satisfy his primal urges, his thighs slapping rhythmically against her arse as he thrust deep inside her.

Whichever fantasy she imagined, she'd soon feel her body succumb to the euphoric feelings, her hot cries muffled as she came.

So she suspected Shawna was right about his sexual prowess, but she'd love to know for sure. She wasn't completely sure why she'd decided to do yoga on the patio today, without wearing a bra and right in front of where Pete was working, it had just been an impulsive thought. Her boobs were on the smaller side, certainly not as generous as Shawna's so sometimes if she was alone at home she wouldn't wear a bra but she knew that going bra-less today was provocative, especially as they were alone in the house.

At heart, she'd always been a bit mischievous, a bit of a tease. She knew he and her mother disapproved of some of the clothes she wore but she worked hard to keep in shape with her running and yoga, why shouldn't she show off the results of all that hard work? She'd been accused of attention seeking before but didn't everyone want to feel like they were attractive?

She didn't mean anything by it, she just couldn't resist teasing him a little and knowing he was watching maybe did make her bend over a little more, arch her back a little further, spread her legs a little wider. Perhaps she just wanted to see how he'd react when a little temptation was put in front of him. Anyway, it was just a bit of fun, and there was no harm in looking, right?

She'd thought she'd seen him looking at her before, but any doubts she had had been blown away today. She'd certainly got a reaction, she thought, a soft smile playing around her glossy pink lips. The way he'd looked at her! Like a starving man looking at a steak dinner. Perhaps he'd thought he'd been discrete and she wouldn't notice, but it was hard not to. She could almost feel the heat from his darkly hungry eyes on her ass when she'd been in downward dog, her hamstrings stretched as tight as her yoga shorts. And the way his face flushed when she got him a glass of water! It was quite cute really. But also hot, it was hard to miss that bulge in his shorts. She'd always wondered what it would be like to go to bed with a real man. Someone worldly with a bit of experience, not the immature boys she'd been fooling around with at uni. It would be interesting to see what would happen if she upped the stakes with Pete, she mused as she pulled into the driveway. Would the real version live up to her fantasy version?

--Pete

I'm still awake when I hear Sam get back. I find it hard to sleep when she's still out, I just can't fully relax till she's safely back. I glance at the bedside clock and note that it's 12:45, predictably well past the curfew her mother imposed. I should probably have a word about that I think, but I already know that I probably won't.

It's very humid tonight and the distant sounds of thunder are keeping me awake. It doesn't help that whenever I close my eyes I keep seeing the deliciously tempting curves of Sam's hot body as it twists into ever more suggestive yoga poses. I'm just drifting off towards a troubled sleep when I hear a tentative knock at the door.

"Hey Pete, are you awake?" I hear Sam's hushed whisper drift across the darkened room.

"Um, what? What is it?" I say, my voice sounding thick with sleep.

"I think I saw someone outside, in the back garden."

"Are you sure?" I say, sitting up, my eyes slowly adjusting. Sam's standing in the doorway, arms crossed over her chest and looking concerned. She's wearing a sheer white nightgown with thin spaghetti straps that barely comes down to mid-thigh.

"Not really, but would you mind checking? I can't sleep thinking there might be someone out there."

I groan as I throw the light summer duvet back and swing my legs out. I'm only wearing dark grey shorts so I grab my dressing gown before carefully heading downstairs in the semi-darkness.

I open the kitchen door onto the patio and stick my arm out, feeling the fat, cold raindrops splashing against my skin as I wave it around till the security lights come on, the harsh white light flooding the swimming pool and the back garden beyond.

There's nothing there though, just the neighbour's cat looking startled and staring at me from the back of the garden. I wait for a few seconds, listening for anything unusual but it's quiet too, just the gentle sound of the rain drumming against the glass. I see a distant flash of lightning but the thunder seems more distant now and it feels like the storm has moved on.

I quickly check the front but again there's nothing, just our two cars in the driveway, their metallic rounded surfaces reflecting the security lighting.

"Must have been a fox or something," I mutter as I make my way back upstairs.

I hang up my dressing gown and am surprised to find Sam in bed, the duvet pulled up to her chin.

"There's nothing out there," I say, placing one knee on the bed. "What are you doing?"

"I was cold plus I don't like thunderstorms, can't I stay for a bit?"

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"Come on, don't be mean, just for a few minutes, just till the storm passes," she says, her face looking pale and innocent in the moonlight. "Please."

"Okay, just till it passes," I sigh as I get into bed. "I thought you were okay with storms."

"I really think I saw someone, I guess it made me a little jumpy."

I turn away from her, trying to settle down as I sense Sam moving around, trying to get comfortable. It's a king size bed with plenty of room for both of us but before long, I feel her warm body press against my back, an arm snaking beneath my pillow, her other arm sliding around my chest.

"What are you doing?" I hissed.

"I'm cold, don't you want me to get comfortable?" she protests.

I felt anything but comfortable as she slides a hand across the firm muscles of my chest, stroking my sparse thatch of chest hair.

"Lie still," I mutter as she moves a little closer, and I feel her pert boobs press against my back through her thin gown.

"Come on, you're so nice and warm," she whispers, her warm breath tickling my ear as I feel her hand slide down over my chest, my self-control tested as I feel her fingers exploring the solid muscle of my pecs.

"Sam, you can't do this," I whisper, as her fingers trace slow circles over my stomach, inching lower towards where my dormant cock begins to stir in my shorts, tingling dangerously

"What?" she says innocently as her hand slides ever lower. "I'm just getting comfortable."

I grab her wrist, stopping her just before she finds out how embarrassingly hard she's making me.

"Come on, turn over, if you're cold we can cuddle for a few minutes, just till this storm passes though," I said, pushing at her shoulder, encouraging to flip over too. We quickly rearrange ourselves into a spooning position, one of my arms draped across her stomach.

Up close, I notice the little things I wouldn't normally notice: the darker roots of her coppery hair, the small mole on her neck, the vanilla scent of her body lotion, the faint spray of freckles across her shoulders. I thought this position would be safer but I quickly realise how wrong I was.

I slide my hand along the rounded swell of her hips then along her stomach, feeling the toned flesh beneath her silky gown. I know I shouldn't but I can't help exploring the subtle curves and contours of her young body as she sighs encouragingly. I kid myself that I'll just have a little feel to satisfy my curiosity then we'll get some sleep. She seems to like it, her bottom pushing back against me, wriggling a little making my cock pulse hotly. Her body feels so good, so soft and inviting. Outside, distant thunder rumbles ominously, like a warning.

She places her hand over mine as I stroke her silky skin, drawing it higher, encouraging me to feel the promising swell of her neatly rounded boobs.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I mutter, my voice hoarse, my lips brushing her ear.

"Come on, just a little stroke to warm me up," she says, sounding a little breathless as I hesitantly fondle her boobs. She has cute apple-sized breasts, smaller than her mothers but nice and firm and sitting high on her chest. Her left boob fits neatly in my hand. I gently squeeze and I can feel her nipple stiffening, coming alive beneath my touch and dimpling the thin silk. I know I shouldn't but I can't resist gently circling it with a fingertip. She gasps, her body shivering hotly as I slowly stroke it, then trap it between thumb and forefinger, gently rolling it.

She slips a hand behind me, squeezing my arse and pulling me tighter against her.

My cock is really hard now and my breathing quickens as it's trapped between my lean stomach and her firm buttocks causing all sorts of dangerous, primal sensations.

I know it's wrong but I just can't stop now, easing the thin gown up over her chest and exposing her bare breasts; they're smaller than Sandy's, perhaps a B cup and glowing palely in the half-light, tipped with stubby, raspberry-coloured nipples. Sam twists towards me, lying on her back now as I sweep her coppery hair aside, exposing the graceful curve of her neck and lightly kiss her pale skin. Her hand slides around the back of my neck pulling me close.

"Fuck, yes," she gasps as I squeeze one of her breasts and leave a trail of hot kisses along the soft slope. I feel her other hand slide over my shorts and she sighs contentedly when she clutches at me though my shorts, feeling how hard I am.

Her mother Sandy loves it when I fool around with her boobs, it's her favourite type of foreplay, and it seems Sam is no different. She moans contentedly as I take my time, my lips brushing lightly against her neck as I caress her breasts, mapping their rounded geography in the darkness. I slowly circle a nipple, feeling it stiffen and throb but teasing her a little as I nibble at her earlobe. She sighs happily when I finally lick a fingertip and use it to strum the stiff little bud as I kiss my way lower, tasting her skin, salty in this humid atmosphere.

I draw the tip of her breast into my mouth, flicking her hard little nipple with my tongue as my hand slides over her silky thighs. As I draw her nipple into my mouth and flick it with my tongue, I slide my hand up along her smooth thigh, my fingertips skimming over the colourful tattoo of a peacock feather that made her mother so angry.

She moans as I run my fingertips along her inner thigh, quickly encountering her panties. They feel thin and lacy, and I feel the material dampen as I slide my fingertips along the gusset, up and down, up and down. She's writhing hotly as I play with her hot, young body, kicking the duvet down the bed. I need to see her naked and she lifts her hips as I tug urgently at her panties, helping me slide them from her long legs.

Beneath is a pale triangle of skin in the shape of her bikini bottoms, and in its centre her pussy looks so warm and inviting, her bare, swollen pink lips glistening in the thin light beneath a sparse tuft of rust-red curls. Sandy has quite prominent labia, but Sam's are more neat and subtle.

"God, yes," she moans, spreading her legs wide as I lightly stroke her lips, using the flats of my fingers to describe slow circles as her hips undulate. I rub her, my fingers circling as I lick and flick my tongue over her nipples, coaxing them to full hardness.

 

She gasps sharply as I slide my fingers a little higher, finding the little bump of her throbbing clit in the darkness, and teasing it with a wet fingertip.

"Please, I want to feel you inside me," she moans hotly, her slim fingers clutching at my cock through my shorts.

There's nothing I'd like more than to roll between her legs and give her a damn good fucking right now but it's too much for me, a step too far. Helping her to get off is one thing, but full-on sex would be proper cheating.

I ignore her, using my sticky fingers to spread her lower lips, revealing the juicy pink folds within. I use a fingertip to explore her tight little entrance, dipping briefly inside, feeling her clasp me. She gasps as I ease it back out and paint the natural lubricant along her swollen lips.

"Fuck, oh fuck yes," she sighs, as I slide my thick, wet finger back inside her, my palm facing upwards, feeling the warm, welcoming embrace of her tight pussy. I can't stop myself pushing deeper exploring her clasping, molten depths as she moans encouragingly.

"Please, it's so good," she says, her voice sounding breathless and ragged. Her hand slides between her thighs, strumming her needy clit as I finger fuck her. I squeeze one of her breasts into a tight cone, and flick a hard nipple with the tip of my tongue as her moans become louder and more demanding.

Her pussy looks so juicy and delicious in the steely moonlight. I change position, reluctantly leaving her breasts and leaving a trail of hungry kisses along the toned skin of her stomach as I'm drawn to her hot, wet centre.

"Oh fuck, yes," she gasps happily as my tongue laps at her hot slit, tracing the swollen contours of her labia. Her hips buck as the tip of my tongue circles her throbbing clit as my finger plunges in and out of her wetness, moving a little faster now.

It's so wrong, but surely stopping now when she's so close would be cruel I reason and so I press on into this dangerous territory, kidding myself that once she's finished she'll somehow go quietly back to her room.

"Please, please," she gasps, her voice rising in pitch as I pleasure her, using the very tip of my tongue to tease her greedy clit. I feel her hand sliding through my short, dark hair pulling me closer as her hips move restlessly.

My wrist and tongue begin to ache as I try to satisfy the intense cravings of her young body, but I persist, knowing that she's nearly there. I slide my free hand up over her breasts and pinch a nipple tight as I drive a thick finger deep inside her and am rewarded with a series of short, harsh gasps. Her eyes are squeezed shut, beads of sweat gathering on her forehead, a look of concentration on her pretty face as if she's struggling to understand the intense sensations. I feel her muscles tightening, her pussy squeezing my fingers like she never wants to let me go as she gets closer and closer, and then suddenly she's there.

"Fuck, fuck, oh fuck!" she groans, the last word a long, low howl of pure pleasure, as she throws her head back, her body arching, her hands clutching blindly at the damp sheets. I find myself embracing her shuddering body as she rocks and shudders, her chest heaving, her breath coming in ragged gasps as I share some of the hot, sublime wave of pleasure that surges through her.

I cling on till the shaking subsides, then roll onto my back, already feeling regret, my mind already trying to rationalise what I've done.

"Damn," she drawls breathlessly. After a few seconds, she rolls towards me and plants a chaste kiss on my cheek.

We lie together quietly, listening to the remains of the storm as our bodies cool and I wonder if she'll quietly slip away back to her room. I realise I'll be disappointed if she does.

I avoid her eyes as she props herself up, resting her head on one hand and staring at my face, as if trying to read my thoughts.

"Nobody's ever done that to me before," she says, her voice sounding relaxed and husky.

"Gone down on you?" I ask, as she slides a hand over my chest, toying with my sparse chest hair.

She nods: "My ex tried it once but he wasn't very good. I didn't, you know, get to finish."

I feel a sense of satisfaction tempered with guilt as her soft lips brush my neck, and her hand circles over the broad planes of my chest, slowly moving downwards over my trim stomach. I feel my cock begin to tingle again as she playfully plucks at the waistband of my shorts, pulling it out and letting it snap back.

"I don't think this is right," I say, grabbing her hand, although there's no conviction in my voice. "And the storm's moved on now."

I twist my head and our eyes meet. Her lips are curled into a knowing smile, as if she knows what's going to happen here and understands that I'm only putting up some token resistance.

"Come on, don't be silly. Look how hard you are, let me help you out a little," she says seductively, her lips brushing my ear as she tugs her hand free.

"I don't know, I don't think we should," I say, but do nothing to stop her fingers sliding ever lower.

I groan as she runs her fingers along the stiff ridge that's formed in my shorts. It feels so good, and my cock twitches, pressing against the taut material of my shorts, as if eager to escape its tight confines.

"I won't tell anyone, it'll be our little secret," she says seductively as she strokes me.

"Sam, please."

"Mmm, you can't be comfortable, you're never going to get any sleep in this state," she purrs as she explores the solid outline. At first, she seems happy to explore the sturdy bulge through my shorts, tracing the shape of my cock with eager fingers as if she's never encountered an erection before. But soon it's clear she wants to see me naked, and I wriggle uncomfortably as she gently but firmly slides her fingers under the waistband and begins to pull my shorts lower.

"Sam, I'm not sure..." I mutter unconvincingly as my hips betray me, quickly lifting off the mattress despite my words as she tugs sharply. I hold my breath as she smoothly eases them down over my tanned thighs. Her plump lips curl into a wicked grin as my cock rears up eagerly, like a puppy demanding her attention.

"So lovely and big and hard," she sighs, biting her lip as she slowly slides her hands back up over my legs and I feel her nails scratch along my inner thighs.

"Fuck," I gasp, as she traces a thick, swollen vein from base to tip. I keep my pubic hair well-trimmed, and it allows me to feel all kinds of deliciously dangerous sensations as she examines my balls, my perineum and finally my thick shaft. I'm not huge down there, but my cock is good and thick with a gentle banana-like curve.

"Fuck, this is so wrong," I grunt as I watch her fingers wrap around me, noting how pale and slender they look my thick, swollen shaft. I sigh as they slowly begin to slide up and down. She squeezes the bulbous purple head and we both watch as several large drops of precum form, and slowly roll down my length. She licks her fingers and soon my length glistens wetly with a mixture of my warm fluids and her saliva.

"What's the matter, don't you like it?" she whispers knowingly, and I shiver as I feel her tongue trace the curve of my ear.

"We shouldn't be doing this," I repeat, feeling my breath quicken as I watch her fingers sliding up and down my slick shaft, making wet noises. I notice she's wearing green nail varnish, the same shade as the top she was wearing earlier.

"I'm just making you feel good like you made me feel good," she argues innocently, and my hips begin to move restlessly as she begins to jerk me faster, harder, and distracted as I am, I can't find a good argument.

This is so bad, so wicked, I think to myself. Sam is effectively my stepdaughter, yet here she is in our bed and I'm lying here passively watching her slender fingers sliding up and down my throbbing cock. It's so wrong but perhaps that's why I'm finding it so deeply arousing. It just feels so good, and I know I'm kidding myself if I think I'm going to stop her now. Instead I grasp her wrist and show her what I want: long, steady strokes that quickly increase my heat, my body quickly moving through the phases, from reluctance to guilty pleasure to needing a satisfying conclusion.

"Oh God, that's so good," I moan hotly, my hips moving in time with her strokes. "Just a little more."

"Like this?" she says, stroking me faster, harder and another electric burst of pleasure surges through my treacherous body.

"Yes, oh fuck," I gasp.

"Are you close?" she asks as she changes rhythm, her fingers jerking the top inch of my swollen prick with short, staccato strokes. I slide my hand around her waist and squeeze her tight buttocks as we both watch her hand pushing me ever closer to the edge.

"Oh fuck, fuck," I gasp in answer as she squeezes me a little tighter, jerks me a little faster.

"You're so lovely and big, I want to see you come," she whispers, her voice sounding tense and excited as she nips at my neck, pleasure and pain swirling around my mind as she marks me with a love bite.

"Yes, fuck, yes," I gasp, my voice sounding high and tight, my breathing reduced to a series of hoarse grunts as she strokes me hard now, her hand mercilessly jerking my inflamed cock as I feel the pressure increase to breaking point, my balls tightening. My body strains, as taut as a guitar string as I rush headlong towards the edge.

"Oh fuck, fuck!" I gasp as I come and I hear her girlish squeal of surprise as a jet of cum erupts from my cock and paints a thick creamy line across on my taut stomach muscles. My hips jerk as another load rolls down my tingling shaft. My orgasm is a lightning burst of sublime bliss and I moan contentedly as it rushes through my body, leaving me warm and tingling and completely satisfied.

"Ooh, you came so hard," I hear Sam whisper, almost sounding triumphant as her soft fingers continue to milk the last few drops from my spent cock.

I can see her lips curl into a satisfied smile as she slides her sticky hand higher, as she rests her head on my heaving chest.

"There, now we can both get some sleep," she continues, finally sounding content as my breathing gradually returns to normal and I feel the sweat cool my hot body.

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