8 comments/ 79472 views/ 9 favorites Creeper By: pickle_sexness It was Tuesday when I first started at the law firm. My mother's best friend Patricia worked there and she wrangled the job for me, knowing I was unemployed and getting desperate. Well I am a qualified clerk so I'm just glad that I scored a job that actually required me to use some of my skills, as opposed to the reception and admin jobs I'd also applied for in the area. 'The only downside is,' Pat began as she led me to where I would be working 40-hour weeks from hereon in, 'is that you have to share an office with Amanda Howard.' It didn't seem like such a bad deal when I heard that, and I'd worked in worse conditions, or so I'd imagined. Oh yes now you laugh, because unlike poor naïve little me, you knew perfectly well what I was in for! You knew what our office was like – how tiny it was. It was dark and dingy and way, WAY too small. I was introduced to Amanda, who practically bristled at me when we met. I was told I would be archiving for her, organising all her case files, making sure everything was present like a good little clerk. In addition to this I would help in the organising of her appointments and other such duties. Pat had told me that Amanda didn't like assistants and preferred to work alone, but in that brief introduction it appeared not only that Pat had severely understated Amanda's 'dislike' of assistants, but I also seemed to be a finger's-breadth close to her putting a hit out on me! Before you start thinking that my picture of her involved a red jumpsuit, horns, tail and a pitchfork, just remember what she actually looks like – why I was so thrown by her distaste for me. Think of her thick chestnut hair – its almost luminous sheen even in our dark little abode. Think of her skin, tanned lightly on her forearms and face but fading to cream at her throat and shapely calf. Think of her beautiful hips, bound forever in a black skirt cutting just above the knee. And remember her walk, the gentle swing of her arms, the sway of her buttocks and the grace of every movement, despite her petite five-foot-three frame. Every inch of her subtly declaring she was woman and feminine and divine. I don't have to tell you how beautiful she was. You've seen her – seen her glide to the kitchen for that awful instant coffee we have to ingest just to keep sane. You've seen her in all her aggravated glory when I am too close to her, when any of us are too close to her. You've seen how she detests small talk and despises the human touch. She is an ice queen, but so handsome that you could never expect anything but warmth and love in those honey, doe-eyes. The moment I was introduced to her, I was at once overcome with the pure complete attractiveness of her, and then just as suddenly by her silent threatening ferocity when I sat beside her. She didn't look at me very often, not in the eyes, not after that first meeting. She stared at spaces near me, jaw clenched, untouchable and unable to be swayed to what I had thought were my good qualities: My humour and how I tried to make someone laugh simply because it felt good to do so. But instead of smiling, she cringed or ignored what I said. She ignored me even when I was serious. My generous inclinations and offerings to share or shout a coffee from Starbucks went unanswered and barely acknowledged. She must have known that the double strength caramel latte I was addicted to was infinitely more satisfying than the filth we stirred into mugs of hot water each morning. However it seemed that sharing something with me equated to catching herpes or Ebola for Amanda. My smile – usually so contagious – and general joie de vie was certainly not as universally appreciated as I had thought and was instead treated by her with the utter scorn of a person who had determined something was obscenely below their simplest and briefest contemplation. She was, for lack of a better word, a complete bitch. I tried really hard not to hold it against her, to hold my head high. Most days I won out over her cloud of pessimism, and maintained high spirits enough for the both of us. Some days it was just too much. It's a rainy, cloudy, depressing day when I arrive at the office. It's the kind of day you wake up and wish that it was a Sunday, not a Monday. I look at my watch – it's 8.55 a.m – time enough to make a coffee and try to feel at least a little human before I face the onslaught of hate and loathing I am bound to face shortly. I cringe inwardly despite my awe at her appearance. She is already in the kitchen, wearing that black skirt and a wafer-thin top. I can't see her bra (I am ashamed to say in that first instant I automatically and quite unconsciously looked for it) but there is silhouette enough of her fine body – the curves of her torso – so appetising, the flesh beneath that must be so soft…my mouth waters a little at the thought of being able to touch her. This instant passes quickly as she turns and sees me enter the room. For once, Amanda's eyes flick to mine and you look away. No – no that can't be right…because if Amanda had done anything but avoid my eyes, frown or scowl it would mean… Had she let her guard down for a moment? Could it be that she's happy to see me? I determine that if Amanda did not at once make me completely aware of her detestation, than she must surely be coming around! Playing on this realisation, I act immediately. 'Morning.' I say brightly, and with a little spring in my step – another little expression of happiness she has always despised. Nope – all sense of potential goodwill dissipates faster than a joint in a frat house the minute she turns her eyes near me again. God, she doesn't even nod hello! Not one little inclination of the head – just the same old gesture intimating the too frequently, non-verbally expressed, 'why are you here? I am not your friend. Leave.' So uncivilised. It seems I was unusually optimistic to even have guessed she might have been happy to see me when I came in. Silly me - won't make that mistake again. I humour her for once – where normally I would stick around just to see how uncomfortable and annoyed I could make her (call me childish, but it's an itch I just have to scratch sometimes) – and leave immediately. The customary 'hello's and 'bonjour's are delivered to various people on my way to our office. I flick a switch and a hazy glow forms over the bench from the suspect fluorescent tube above my head. I survey our space and pick out all the things that would undoubtedly bug her when she entered it. Another thing that annoys Amanda – I work in creative chaos (or so I call it). She is a neat freak – like OCD but just short of requiring therapy. I sit myself in front of several armloads of files and set to work processing them. As I do this, Amanda enters the room (practically taking a deep breath of 'fresh' outer-office air before venturing an atmosphere shared with me) and takes a seat at her own section of the long, curved desk. It is the kind that is fitted to the all and follows it around a corner, giving me room to work right alongside her. Her back is stiff as she sits and she is staring at the expanse of clean space before her. Then she turns her gaze to my hands rustling amongst a dozen or so files before I find the one I'm after. I see her turn her head and her eyes squint disdainfully. I am set on ignoring her and her haughtiness for the rest of the day. Soon after said resolution, Amanda proceeds to make it impossible for me to concentrate by disturbing my thoughts with her huffing and puffing (although this is done in a determinedly gently, sexy way…I detract). She does this for the better part of our eight hours trapped together and with exception to the lunch hour in which I find an escape at a local sushi bar, I am continually reminded of her generally spiteful demeanour at various intervals. When the clock strikes five o'clock I am out the door quicker than she can ignore my 'See you tomorrow Mandy!' She hates it when I call her that. It is evening now. Although it is only the beginning of the week, Ben, one of the solicitors, has begun a tradition of Monday night drinks. I must say that it is the only good thing to come about on a Monday such as I've had. I sit at a table with five other people from our office. Ben is late, having been stuck with a last minute consultation, and four of my associates present at the moment operate in little cubicles close to the room Amanda and I share. The fifth is, surprisingly, Amanda herself. Every week Ben sends memo's to the entire staff via email. It would be remiss of him to neglect to send one to Amanda, however the strange thing was that this evening Amanda' had actually turned up! She never comes! And yet, in the chair across from me, she sits and runs her fingernails up the condensation on her glass. She doesn't appear so glass-half-empty right at the moment, but I suspect deep down that it's no more than a façade designed to lull me into a false sense of security. As we chat – 'we' being the five of us NOT including Amanda, who despite any recent change of behaviour could not change THAT drastically – we talk about various clients, matters and general gossip. Amanda gulps down about three or four drinks to my two, leading me to believe something's amiss. I refrain from asking, aware that the response would be quite wordless and undoubtedly negative, and instead try to escape her apparent wallowing by visiting the ladies room. Once inside I look in the mirror, wiping smudged eyeliner that had worked it's way down below my lower lid throughout the course of the day, and pulling at different strands of my short hair in an effort to salvage the style I had given it this morning. I give myself the once over in the mirror, just to make sure I am half-way presentable. My short black hair is cut in a rather edgy style, which I do up with hair wax at odd angles. It generally collapses during the day to that of a surfer-boy's short do, but naturally jet-black in colour. I have a light dusting of freckles across my nose from too much sun the week before, and other than that my skin is only a few shades above ivory. I am an odd mixture of my father's Scandinavian heritage and my mother's southern Italian roots – all dark hair, pale skin and smoky-blue eyes. At only five-foot-seven and about sixty-five kilos, I appear as average as they come. Despite this I am quite muscular, when those muscles are active that is, and visit the gym most nights bar the weekend. I am happy with my body, and my pride in my strength and physique (albeit not of model or athlete proportion) give me an extra ounce of confidence as I make to exit the bathroom again. I'm only half-focused on where I'm going as I approach the door, and inadvertently bump into someone while I'm distracted with my retreating reflection. I stammer, 'God I'm so sorry-' before realising I've run into Amanda. She meets my eye and her gaze flicks away. Blushing she also apologises ('No it's my fault…') before she disappears into a cubicle, leaving me standing here stunned and quite off-guard. She speaks. She spoke. She spoke to me. I mean, I know she can talk – we share an office and you can't go your entire professional life without some kind of verbal input (although as far as Amanda was concerned, I had imagined otherwise). What got me was her speaking to me, even if it was just a muttered apology. Wow. Something must really be up. I am woken from my reverie by a small sniff! God, I think to myself, is she crying? First words and now distinct, human emotion? 'Mandy?' I call gently from where I stand. 'You alright mate?' My inquiries are met with silence and I leave, getting the point. The apology was the only instant of common courtesy I've ever seen her show, and must have been a reflex. She doesn't want me in her business. That is fine by me. A small part of me is still concerned, but by the next day at work I have forgotten all about her little lapse in treating me like a leper. Tuesday is no better than Monday. It's like Monday except it feels longer and doesn't end in fun, communal drinks. The weather is still shite outside and the single tube-light in our office has blown, so we use a small dusty old lamp I found in the storeroom - Mandy works by the light of her computer's LCD screen, while I sit in the low yellow glow of the archaic bendy desk lamp. There are rumbles of thunder outside and the rain is pattering softly against the window - the light filtering in through it's blinds is a dull grey that somehow manages to make visibility in the room worse than if it had been covered altogether. I reach out to grab a file just as Amanda is leaning to steal my stapler (she never asks) and our hands bump. She instantly bursts out, 'Oh! sorry.' I cannot handle this. Once last night was forgettable, but now this? It's just too eerie to go unaddressed. I decide to confront her. 'Amanda you never speak to me so why in Hell are you apologising all of a sudden?' It comes out a little harsh and I regret the tone, but the question remains and it is one I want an answer to. 'What are you talking about?' she says – she sounds a little hurt and I am confused by this. I stutter out the next thought running through my mind (stuff always sounds better if you rehearse – this was not rehearsed) – 'Well you've made me so fucking aware that you hate me, that I'm just a little confused you seem to be extending small courtesies all of a sudden!! You should probably just give it up and go back to treating me like a piece of shit on your italiano boots!!!' She is silent. I am staring at her, emboldened by the fact she's on the back-step. She looks me in the eyes before averting her gaze again. A slight frown crosses her face and she appears confused. Now I'm really confused – again! She murmurs, almost to herself , 'You don't see it?' She just sits there not a foot from me, her legs crossed under the chair and her hands in her lap, the chair swung round to face me. I must take action. I put my hands on either arm of the chair and dip my head down so she cannot avoid meeting my gaze. I am almost pleading for an answer when I explode with 'See what Amanda?' Her breathing is shallow, her hands fidget and as she looks at me I notice her jaw clench as I've seen it do so often. In an instant her hands are on either side of my face. She leans almost off her chair, pulling me towards her, pressing her lips desperately against mine. My mind is in recoil – all thoughts have been whited out and adrenaline courses through my body. In true 'fight or flight' tradition I instantly pull away leaving her sitting there, her hands sitting limply in her lap, and her cheeks flaming red. My heart races and I can only stare at her. In what seems like a life-time, but was in reality only a few seconds, I am coming to the realisation I know you saw from a mile off. She doesn't hate me, followed by: she wants me. I feel my eyes widen and my breathing shallows also. My mind reboots now and in it's initial start-up I manage to get out 'Amanda…what-?' before she cuts me off. She is speaking very fast and her voice is quivering. I have never seen her so worked up. 'I'm sorry – I couldn't help it. I just needed…and I couldn't stop myself. I…' she stops and drops her eyes to her hands, now tearing at her cuticles. I reach out and stop her hands moving – it is an action based on subconscious emotion: I don't want her hurting herself. I know her nails will sting like crazy if she keeps ripping away like this. I resolve, against my earlier revelation, that there must be something wrong elsewhere in her life for her to explode at work like this, to me like this. I am instantly overcome with a wave of sympathy and friendly supportiveness. She looks so much like a little girl lost as she sits there, I can't resist kissing her cheek and then pulling her into a hug. 'Amanda, what is it? What's wrong?' She is almost crying. There are tears in her voice and I feel wetness against my neck where she has buried her face. She mumbles '…you smell so…I just…just need you...' Having come to two conclusions and changing them over in my head so quickly, changing my mind again sets me back. I pull away and instead we sit knees together, foreheads almost touching. I am holding her hands again and look over her tear-streaked face. Her eyes are still downcast. She lifts her gaze and I see how wet her eyes are. Her lip is quivering and she looks in my eyes with this desperate, needing expression on her face. She shows how much she needs me to want her. She is so upset, how can I not comfort her? I sigh, half-exasperated by how childish she seems, and I kiss her gently on the lips, tasting the salt from her tears as I do so. I am cupping one cheek and my hand rests on her knee. She does not react in the passionate way she first kissed me – indeed she seems quite taken aback – and pushes her lips back against mine almost tentatively. In moments like this, you find your mind goes to autopilot. Or, rather, all executive decision-making power the higher consciousness has is vetoed. Instead, you become almost completely hedonistic. It makes me wonder how men are stereotyped as thinking through their genitals, when in my experience I have acted no better. I'm not thinking now – my body has taken control – but the emotions coursing through me feel so natural, so good that I can't bear to resist. Amanda presses against me as I pull her upright. I gently push her back a step until she is against the desk. She wriggles to a seated position, our lips never parting except to draw a breath here or there. She tastes bitter, like the office coffee. Her mouth is warm and moist and her tongue brushes mine as we kiss. She moulds to me like a glove. Her hands are at the back of my neck and running through my hair. I have my arms about her torso, drawing her into me. It is like I'm meant for holding her and she's made for kissing me. It's electric, but also smooth and warm and so, so fucking hot. The longer I feel her body against mine, the way her legs part and wrap around my own, the stronger the intensity becomes. The passion curls within my chest and having only lips as an outlet is not even close to being enough. We are both panting. Her chest rises and falls rapidly and I can feel her breasts pressed hard against my own. I reach a hand around from her back to rub first at her side and then creep up to her right cloth-covered nipple. She moans into my mouth, sighing and sucking on my upper lip as I do it. I run the same hand down to where her shirt buttons at her navel and begin, gently, to unbutton them. I stop kissing her for a moment, and use both hands to do this. All the while, I look into her eyes. Her head is tilted slightly to one side, her brows raised slightly and her mouth open – still softly panting. I feel nothing but desire and tenderness for her in that moment, and see more of the same reflected at me in her eyes. I want her to look at me like that until the world ends. Her shirt being unbuttoned, I place the fingertips of both hands at her collarbone, and trace the front of her body, curving around her delightful bosom and resting at the curve of her sides and waist. She is quite small in the body, seeming so fragile and beautiful that I have to kiss her again. Creeper I feel the heat of her skin. She must as well, for now she fumbles at the collar of my own shirt, pulling at the buttons feverishly. I think she pops one or two – I'm too busy covering her throat and exposed collarbone with tiny kisses. She pushes my open shirt off my shoulders and it bunches at my back and binds my elbows. I pull it off and am standing only in my dark pants and bra. She runs her own hands over my stomach – she feels the hardness of my muscles there underneath what I refer to as my 'feminine layer' – that small layer of what must be fat, and prevents us women from appearing as bulky and rippling as a toned man – allowing us to keep our curves (in most cases that is – muscle like Madonna has is hard to achieve). Amanda's eyes are very wide. They seem to be drinking me in and her hands drop from my stomach to the button of my pants. I chuckle a little at this and stop her hands from questing any further. The protective drive I feel for her, sitting there all vulnerable with her shirt open to me, is too powerful. I lean in and kiss her softly, lightly, before trailing those kisses down her throat, over the swell of her breasts, across her soft stomach to the waistband of that black skirt. My hands worship her skin – they trail over it, stroking the softness and running over her skirt to her knees. Her legs have come closer together, spread only fractionally now. I dip first one hand, and then the other beneath the hem on either leg, running up her thigh ever so gingerly. She shifts, her hips shift a little and legs widen, just enough to let me know it is all right for me to continue. Her eyes are on the bulge my hands make as they work their way up her skirt and outer thigh, all the way to the top of her stockings. I draw one down, and then the other, rolling them at her toes and pulling them off clean. Her calves are smooth and hairless. I take a moment to run my fingertips over them, feeling her skin goose-bump all over at the sensation. The room is very warm, the air thick – perhaps from our heavy breathing, perhaps not – it serves only to enhance the craving I am feeling, the need I have to please her in any and every way I can. To make what caused those tears from only a few minutes ago disappear forever. My hands are back on her thighs now, pushing the skirt higher up her legs. I slide my palms up her inner thighs, feeling the muscles there react to my touch. I reach her bikini line, where silky-lace patterns across her flesh. What's this? I feel a bump. She gasps a little as I stroke the area there, and I am careful not to touch too much at once. I trace the bump and find it is long, winding from her bikini line down the inside of her thigh and hooking around the back of her leg. I would look at this line of skin, which I take to be some kind of atrocious scar, but when I look in Amanda's eyes she is shaking her head – she is asking me not to go there – not to ask questions. Given how vulnerable a state she seemed to be in (although do not for one second think I was taking advantage of her here – you know now what happened) I decide not to argue the matter and return to my caressing. I draw the waistline of her lingerie off her hips – she raises herself a little to aid me. Beneath her icy-cold exterior, all the while she's been wearing scarlet red lace! I grin roguishly at the revelation. It warms my heart to see her blush and smile, embarrassed. I keep staring into her eyes as I do this, she had flicked her own gaze intermittently from mine to what my hands had been doing, but now she's focused entirely on me. I pull one of our chairs behind me and take a seat before her. The desk is a perfect height for our little paradisaical moment, the lighting soft and warm. She waits for me, her skirt hitched high up her legs, bra exposed beneath an open work shirt. She is a nymph – a goddess. She widens herself further, allowing me to come closer in my chair, and I work my hands back to her exposed bikini line, trailing my fingers up her thighs and brush against coarse, curly hair. It is the supreme aphrodisiac – the scent of her body and the touch of her hair is so intoxicating that I cannot resist running my thumbs over her hair and down into the crevasse of her lips. She still stares at me. I feel her quake at my touch. She reaches out, takes my face in her hands and kisses me once, deeply, before I return to my ministrations. I am bound to continue now until she shakes no more, and I push her back into a reclined position – leaning against the wall behind the desk. I place my arms beneath her legs, hoisting them up a little, and I lean in to run my tongue from her inner thigh all the way to the moistness leaking out of her core. My tongue immerses itself between her labia and I taste her – her sweet, musky, heady woman-ness – it is all I crave and I continue licking her beautiful pussy until her groin muscles begin to contract rhythmically. There is nothing delicate about what I do to her now, only that she does not cry out or moan as loudly as others do. No, she is one of a kind – where many sheepish people would be so vibrant when it comes to sex, Amanda (normally so harsh and severe) is gentle as a lamb – all quiet and shaking. I've never been with someone like her and begin to suspect I may never want to again. As I am lapping at her vagina, her hips begin to gently push at my face. I raise my eyes, never ceasing my mouth's quest to taste every inch and every ounce of her, and I see her head tilted back, being supported by the wall. Her hands tense and clutch at the desk's edge while I strengthen my grip on her legs. Her calves are almost over my shoulders and her skirt has ridden up so it bunches about her waist, leaving her lower half bare and at my mercy. Her pants are getting deeper, faster – I need to give her more. I bring one leg down from where it is supported on my shoulder – it comes to rest hanging from the desk, her feet are inches from the ground. I hold her so close now, and I bring one hand up from her lowered thigh, slowly pushing my index finger deep into her vagina. My lips have formed a boundary around her bud – my tongue lashing and swirling it, covering it with my saliva and sucking it into my mouth. My introduced digit produces a sharp exhalation and her knuckles whiten with the pleasure of it. Having such a response, I introduce a second, and then, once she is used to the feeling, a third finger stretching her moist canal. The feeling of her pussy beneath my lips, upon my mouth, and around my fingers is completely absorbing. Never have I wanted to make someone happy so much in my life, and I find that all I can think about now is how to make her come – how to bring her to an orgasm that will make her weep tears of joy and not of sorrow or loneliness. I am pushing my fingers deep within her, feeling the soft flesh of her walls contract against me, all the while I am still suckling at her clit, holding her legs steady as her hips undulate against me. She rolls her hips once, twice, and then several spasms pass through her groin – she has stopped her breathing for a moment – a sharp inhalation has occurred and is released as a slow sigh of relief. Her twitching subsides as she comes down from her carnal high, and I am there cleaning her of her excess liquid. She is divine, and feeling her react to me as such is beyond satisfaction. I don't need her to please me as I sense she feels inclined to – no we have been in the office for too long and must make some appearance given the nearness of the lunch-hour. She leans against the wall again. One hand goes to her heart, covering the heaving of her chest and she gets her breath back again. I sit there still, but have retracted my fingers from her, and I gently stroke her inner thighs while I watch her post-sex process. Her eyes were closed, but now they open and she looks at me with such wide eyes and this heartbreaking smile – perfect teeth behind perfect lips. I rise and we meet in a slow, sweet embrace. Her arms about my neck, mine around her body – our lips meet gently and lovingly. She sighs as our kiss ends and we remain holding each other, faces almost touching. I run my hand through her hair, pushing her long fringe back away from her face where it had clung to beaded sweat. She is exquisite and I tell her so. She chuckles softly, musically. 'Well you're lovely,' she says. 'We have to get out of here,' I tell her. 'or people will get suspicious.' She laughs again. 'No they won't.' I raise my eyebrows and review our normal work patterns. She's right – we never surface from our little office before one o'clock and it is only twelve thirty-eight now. We are both looking at the clock on the wall, and then we meet each other's gaze again. Amanda's lips twist to a mischievous smirk and I know what's on her mind… Creepin' Around It's been a while since Chad and I have been able to have a little fun. We have two wonderful children, Aidan and Kara, ages 2 1/2 and 4. And like all children, they innocently know how to keep their parents sexually frustrated no matter what. We work, pick up the kids, come home, have dinner, attend to the kids, and then try to find some bedroom time. Oh, I'd say that we get as far as taking our clothes off and a bit of foreplay, hoping that we'll finally get our release. It never works, especially with Aidan, who loves to get out of bed and get into ours. So then I tried getting myself excited before getting to bed so that we could make a quickie, but Kara teams up with Aidan, and they demand I stay there with them until they sleep. It may take hours, and then I'm tired, and Chad is asleep by then. I don't know why our kids don't want us to be relaxed! Of course, we've had our times when we do finally make love, but we have to keep an ear out for the kids. Unfortunately, the last time that happened was a long time ago. Between career lives, Kara getting herself a new hobby in Dance class and Aidan just becoming a big boy, it's become stressful for both of us. But I had to keep trying. I discovered late one night that Kara stays awake if Aidan isn't asleep, so to test this out, I kept Kara up a while longer one day while I put Aidan down for the night. And as soon as I put Kara in the bed, she goes to sleep fairly fast. Unfortunately, I couldn't do anything that night because I had to be up early the next morning. But tomorrow night, our schedule was clear. I came home from work, bringing home Aidan from daycare. Kara was home, running into my open arms and screaming. Chad came out, picking Aidan up while Kara told me about her day. After a bit, I let her down and she went off to play. I walked into the bedroom, changing into some comfy mom clothes, shorts and a t-shirt, planning to prepare some dinner. Turned away from the door, I heard it close and I look to see my husband standing there. I got up and walked over to him, being lifted into his arms and kissed. Giggling, he put me down on the bed and got on top. "Hey there." I said. "Hey." He replied, kissing me again. "How are you?" "I'm very, very good today. You?" "Better. But I think we could be way more if we could find time..." he suggested, kissing down my neck. Running my fingers through his hair, I was going to love what I planned tonight. "Good you mention that...I am definitely sure that we will have plenty of time tonight..." I said. His head popped up attentively, like I had said something bad. The expression of interest on his face was definitely memorable, his sexy blue eyes wide with excitement. "And how?" "Just trust me on this one. You'll love it." "Mmm...I can't wait," he deeply said, passionately kissing me. I moaned a bit, a little turned on at the moment. Just as I had finished unbuttoning his shirt and baring his sexy chest, there was a knock on the door. We untangled ourselves and I put on my slippers, opening the door and finding Aidan. I closed the bedroom door behind myself, picking my son up and walking into the kitchen. I fixed the children a little snack and let them watch some TV while I got dinner together. I fixed some chicken and set the pan into the oven. After bending to close the oven door, strong arms wrapped around me. The smell of his cologne, as with every time, ripened my senses. I let out a sexy laugh and he kissed my neck. I gasped when his hands went up my shirt, caressing me and teasing my chest with faint fingertips. "Baby..." I whispered. He kissed the other side of my neck. "I'm sorry babe, I can't help it. I keep thinking about all the things I want to do to you..." "Ooh, me too honey. But we have to wait just a while longer." I said, trying to stop myself from getting carried away. "Damn...this is going to absolutely kill me. Did you grab the mail today?" "Nope, I didn't." "Good, I need something to keep my mind off." He said, pulling his hands out of my shirt and heading out of view towards the front door. I took a deep breath, turned back to the food and continued cooking. About 45 minutes later, I set the table for dinner. We sat down and ate chicken, rice, and peas. Just as we started, my mind began wandering. I remembered the first time we made love...in this kitchen...well it certainly started there, anyway. I miss the way he feels; all around me...inside me...he drives me up a wall! I break my thoughts to find Kara saying, "Mommy?" "I'm sorry sweetie, I was thinking about something." I said, smiling and attending to her needs. After dinner, I cleaned up whilst Chad was bathing the kids. It was almost sleepy time for the children and I was anticipating an explosive night of passion! I went to the bedroom and changed into a black lingerie nightgown, throwing on a robe and slippers. I went into the basement and did a little laundry, getting the kids' clothing ready for tomorrow. Bringing their clothes upstairs, I went into their bedroom, finding them dressed in pajamas. I set down their clothes and followed the routine as tested, sending Kara off to go read for 15 minutes. While I was catering to Aidan, Chad popped into the doorway. I looked up at him, admiring his sexy grin. I gave him a sexy smile back and he winked, walking off. Within the next 10 minutes, Aidan was off, and I sauntered into the living room to grab Kara, whom had already begun to nod off. I carried her into their bedroom, tucking her in and turning on the night-light and soothing music. I quietly exited the room and closed the door a bit, tiptoeing into our bedroom. He appeared to be in the bathroom, so I took off my robe, undid my hair, and posed sexy on the bed. He opened the door to find me there, looking up at him half naked in silk boxers. "Come and get it." I said, summoning him with my finger. He dimmed the lights and approached the bed, getting on top of me and kissing me hard. I ran my fingers up and down his toned torso, taking in every last muscle. Leaning down to kiss my neck, his body was pressed up against mine, feeling him rock hard. He pulls my lingerie up, over my head, and aside the bed. He massaged my breasts and I let out a sigh, feeling his mouth on my nipples. My pussy was tingling and creaming with excitement and lust under his control. He butterfly kissed down my stomach, his hands teasing my inner thighs. I quivered, wanting him even more. Finally, his tongue wrapped around my clit, and I let out a horny whimper. He pushed a finger inside of my tight wet hole, adding another and feeling myself contract around him. "Fuck...you're so tight...I can't wait to feel myself inside you..." "Mmm...me either..." I groaned, pinching my nipples. He sat up for a moment, bringing his fingers towards my mouth, and I licked and sucked them clean, savoring the sweet taste of myself. We kissed, our tongues battling one another in the name of ecstasy. He went back down, thrusting his tongue inside me. I threw my head back and ran my fingers through his hair again, feeling an orgasm coming on as gasps came flying from between my lips. Licking my clit very fast and fucking me with three fingers, I silently screamed in bliss as I came loose for the first time in a while. Taking a few breaths, he kissed up my body and it was his turn to feel good, straddling him. I kissed down his chest, dipping my tongue in his abs, one of my favorite things to do. I teased his straining erection with my fingers, hearing him take in a breath. I finally pulled them down, his 7-inch cock standing straight out. I licked my lips and then up the length. The tip of my tongue danced around the head, tasting his pre-cum. I then sank my lips over his dick, hearing his deep moans and being almost driven crazy by them. His hands fisted in my hair, trying to control himself. About a minute or so later, he pulled my head up by my hair. "I'm sorry baby, but I have to have you now!" he said. I wanted to start off with my favorite position, so I straddled his lap and guided him inside me, both of us reacting greatly to this reunited sensation. His hands clamped around my hips as I began to ride him nice and slow. I began to massage my clit, smiling in the fact that I'm definitely making his toes curl. He pushed up hard to meet me slamming down harder, the noise of our skin echoing the room. I put my hands on his chest, leaning down to kiss him. I was ready for him to take control. "Does that feel good baby?" "So damn good." "Mmm...I want you to fuck me harder, Chad..." I urged and begged. He followed suit, getting back on top and following my command. I wrapped my arms around his neck, moaning to the wonderful feelings I was getting. He got up to a kneeling position, propping my legs over his shoulders, taking this lovemaking to a new level. He fucked me so hard...so deep...so good...that I began losing my mind. I moaned his name, along with other obscenities, tearing the sheets with my fingernails. He put one leg down, getting down and pumping deep. Feeling his unsteady breaths and hearing his satisfying groans so close to my ear made me pulse all over. He sucked on my neck and I reached down, clutching his tight ass in my hands. And at this time, I was feeling an orgasm coming on. My hands drew up his back, trying so hard not to scream, but I don't think I could be quiet about it. "Ohh honey, yes...right there...fuck yes..." I moaned really loud, my fingernails clamped into his back. "Oh yeah baby, come to daddy..." he groaned, keeping that pace. He kissed me and that was it. I screamed, losing every sense in my body for a few seconds, clenching so hard around his cock and clamping my body so tight around him. Every violent wave shook me all over, eliciting sighs and moans of all volumes. He was right behind me, groaning just as loud, adding new warmth inside. Taking a few relaxing kisses, we didn't move, and we hoped that the kids didn't wake. Not hearing anything, I cupped his face in my hands and kissed him hard. He got down, holding me in his arms, and we lay there. Just as I got a little sleepy, I hear crying in the kids' room. I let out a sigh. Well, at least I finally got to have some fun creepin' around. -THE END- Creepy Work Guy Tricked Me I had just turned eighteen when it happened ... I'd recently started working as a waitress in a busy city centre restaurant, with a lot of other people around my age. Everyone was really friendly, & within the first couple of weeks I'd already been invited to a few parties here & there. I'd been shy, wanting to get to know them better before letting my guard down. Not long afterwards though I'd come to see that they were really fun people to be around & I promised myself I'd accept the next invite. There was just this one guy in particular, who was very popular with all of my work colleagues that I couldn't quite figure out. I can't recall his name now, it was so long ago. But from the outset I knew I didn't like him one bit. He was over friendly to the point of pushy, & really the best word I could use to describe him was just plain creepy. But everyone else loved him. It made me question my own judgement on the type of person he was. One night, at the end of a long shift I was one of the last people to leave. As I made my way outside to my car I saw him talking to one of the chefs. He called my name, & caught up with me to explain that he was having a party the following night & invite me. He apologised for the short notice & pointed out that this was the first he'd seen me in a week. This was before mobile phones & social media were popular, so these things weren't that rare. I wanted to say no, but I didn't. After all I'd made a promise to myself that I'd accept the next invite I received. & I did want to get to know these people, right! So I took down his address on the back of an envelope I found in the glove compartment of my car, told him I'd see him after 7pm the following night, & left to make the thirty minute drive home. _ The following night I arrived at the address he'd given me at just before 8pm. A girl should be fashionably late after all. But mostly I wanted to make sure plenty of other people were already there, so it wouldn't be awkward. No one else was there. I was, he said the first to arrive. Bear in mind that I didn't start drinking alcohol until I was twenty-one. But there I was sitting in his living room sipping on a drink, wondering where everyone else was. Another hour passed by, & still there was no sign of any of my new friends. I felt so uncomfortable but politeness kept me in my seat. & (silly me) that was most certainly the reason I ended up with the second drink. As you can imagine, by this stage I was very tipsy & in hindsight I would seriously suspect that he knew it too. I'm not sure how it happened but the next thing I can remember I was sitting on the edge of a bed with him beside me. He was caressing my body & telling me he wanted me, & that I was beautiful. I didn't say anything in return, & I didn't try to stop him as he undressed me, telling me to raise my arms to take my top off, & stand so he could remove my jeans. All of his instructions I complied with silently, even though as this was happening absolutely nothing in me wanted it. I did not want him to touch me, but I didn't even attempt to stop him. I wondered for a long time afterwards what that actually meant. Soon he had me lying back on the bed completely naked with my legs spread. He climbed on top of me, still completely dressed, bar his shoes & began to suck my nipples & touch me as he pleased. All the while continuing to tell me that I was beautiful & how he wanted me from the first moment he saw me. He moved up the bed & knelt beside my head while he undid his jeans. When he told me to open my mouth I complied with the same ease as I had earlier. He put his cock in my mouth & told me to suck it. I did as I was bid. All the while thinking I'd rather he stopped... My body wasn't saying that though. I could feel my pussy getting wet despite the fact that I truly did not want his touch. After a while he undressed himself completely & climbed back on top of me. I let go then & just went with it. What was the point in objecting to myself any further if I wasn't even going to try & stop him? He fucked me for hours, moving me as & when he wanted, using every position a guy in his early twenties would know. _ It was morning by the time he was finished with me. I left with hardly a word, drove home, had a shower & went to bed to sleep. Every time I thought about it for a while after that I shuddered. I couldn't understand why I hadn't even objected once. I'd just let him do whatever he wanted to me, without question. _ The next time I saw him was in town about six months later. He didn't see me. I hid. But then I realised something. I was standing in my hiding spot waiting for him to pass & I realised that I was turned on. My pussy was wet, & I was turned on! This was of course long before I knew who & what I was sexually. A submissive, who doesn't want control... I suppose some girls are just born to be used for sex.