by Mia Hart
“We’re closed. I can’t cook you anything,” I tell him, as my arms hang over his open window .
“I never came for food, I came for you .”
“I don’t understand ?”
He looks past me towards the café, “You’re much too good for this place, working for that little dictator. I hear the way he talks to you. It’s not right .”
“But, I have my apartment here and — ”
“And what? As you may have noticed already, I gotta bed back there. As long as you have somewhere to lie down, what’s the chain that’s holding you back ?”
My doubt turns into the biggest smile—I tip-toe up to reach his mouth, and kiss him .
As I get more passionate, Jed pulls away, “You better clear it with him. He’s staring right at us .”
“Wait here .
As I run back inside the café, Jenny quick steps towards me, “What are you doing ?”
I motion over to Jed’s truck, “That’s what I’ll miss staying here .”
We look at each other for a moment. It’s kinda weird at first, but soon she lunges forward and gives me a big squeeze, “Good for you Roxy .”
I hug her back, “You be good to yourself .”
“Roxy! You haven’t finished counting the money from the till,” the boss shouts .
I move away from Jenny, “You can count, can’t you ?”
“Well...yes, but — ”
“Good, count it yourself then .”
With that, I dash outside, climb into the passenger side of Jed’s truck, and we make off down the road .
Everyone deserves a happy ending …
Yet this was just the start .
Caught in the Act
1
M y housemates are at work, it’s my day off, and I finally have the house all to myself—yes! To celebrate, I decide to let my hair down, pour a cheeky glass of wine—even though it’s only mid-morning—and stick the radio on full blast .
I love being alone. If I could afford a place of my own I would definitely go for it, but the cost of rent in London is extortionate. As I’m studying for a business degree and only hold down a part-time cleaning job, a house share is my only option at this point. Don’t get me wrong, my housemates are wicked but sometimes it’s nice for a single girl to have her own space…well…that is unless a fit young hunk wants to share my bed. I think I could happily accommodate that. Being single is a travesty in a bustling city like London .
Even though all of us are only in our early twenties, my housemates are much further up the career ladder than me .
Emma is a qualified nurse at the city hospital. I love Ems to bits. She’s become a really good friend. Whenever she’s free we either enjoy a girly night in, or hit the clubs. She has more luck picking up guys than I do. Her awesome personality is one thing, but I think having the body of an Amazonian goddess, and blonde hair that falls all the way down to her ass, is probably the first thing any red-blooded male takes notice of. She isn’t promiscuous really, but she likes the chase and takes great pleasure in winding all the boys up. Going out with her is great fun .
Matt’s a personal trainer in the local fitness centre on the high street. As you would expect from holding down a job like that, he keeps himself well trim. I remember seeing him come out the bathroom once, wearing only a towel around his waist. His taut gorgeous body still wet from the shower he enjoyed. My god, he had the most chiselled abs I think I’ve ever seen. It’s safe to say he looked as close to perfection as you can get—at least in my book. That’s when I first developed a mega-crush on him. Unfortunately, aside from some occasional flirting and banter, nothing ever went further between us. Anyway, I’m pretty sure he has a thing for Emma—being the sexy young goddess she is, and likewise, she has a thing for him. I asked her about it once but she vigorously denied it. “Not my type,” she told me .
Not my type? God, I would bend over backwards for one night in the sack with him .
As the morning nicely drifts by, with all my favourite tunes blaring out from the stereo, I begin tidying up the house. I don’t mind doing the chores really and I think Em and Matt are only too aware of the fact, as I always seem to do more than my fair share of the rota—occupational hazard having a job as a cleaner I guess .
I pour myself another glass of white, and get stuck in. Starting with the vacuuming, I go from room to room making sure the place is spotless in time for the weekend. Rather than just cleaning the communal parts of the house, we have a mutual agreement that allows us to straighten up each other’s rooms. By now we trust one another, and if we have anything to hide we could always lock it away .
Nudging at Matt’s closed bedroom door, with the head of the vacuum, I hear the nozzle make a loud crackling noise. It sounds like I’m sucking up gravel. I let myself into his room and on seeing the state of the place, my jaw hits the floor—it’s a right dump! Clothes lie strewn across the floor. Empty beer bottles hog every inch of his desk and shelves. It looks like a freaking cyclone hit it—totally at odds with his personal appearance .
I shake my head and carry on regardless, fetching a bin liner to gather up all the empty bottles and cans. Accidentally dropping one of the bottles on the floor, I bend down to pick it up and see a huge wedge of magazines stacked up underneath his bed. A devilish smile creeps across my lips. I’m certain they not comic books !
2
I t feels so naughty looking through his things, especially looking through what I suspect is his porn stash. My curiosity is too strong though. I have to see what kind of girls he likes to jerk off to. My initial excitement is soon fizzled out, as I start to thumb through the pile—motorbikes, cars, football, men’s fitness—I pause at the fitness one. It has some muscular guy holding a kettlebell on the cover—Mm, nice…I put that to one side for later .
Carrying on with my inspection, I find what I’m looking for at last. Nestled in the middle of all that boring tosh is the jackpot. The cover has a half-naked blonde chick on the front, nipples censored by little black stars—how tasteful. The fact that she adorns the cover makes me assume that she’s the centre spread. I have to say that I feel a little disappointed at first, thinking this must be his type. I mean, he bought the magazine with her on the cover—a girl more akin to our own Ems in the body department. I have jet-black hair and let’s say—a slightly more generous figure—than the blonde stick-insect who stares back at me from the glossy front cover of the magazine .
I take my phone out of my back pocket to check the time, and see that lunch is still an hour away. I’ve all day for chores, so I decide to take a little rest on Matt’s bed and properly scrutinise his collection of porn .
Matt’s bed is lovely and soft. I bounce up and down on it, giggling like a juvenile idiot. Wrapping myself in his duvet, I press my nose down upon his pillow. I can smell the faint aroma of his aftershave—it’s one of my favourites. Whenever he gets ready for a night on the town, he drowns himself in the stuff. The scent always drives me wild .
All snug and comfy in his sheets, I start to feel slightly wet below as I imagine his hard body fucking me over and over. Christ, if he came back now, and saw me messing about on his bed, he’d kill me! Still, he won’t be home for hours yet so I’ve plenty of time to “enjoy” myself .
I carry on flicking through the dirty mag and start to find it an incredible turn on—a little window into Matt’s naughty mind. Now I’m not really into the whole, “lesbian thing” but some of the women are drop dead gorgeous. I can clearly see why Matt, or any straight man for that matter, likes this kind of thing. Although all the girls are sexy as hell, one model catches my eye more than the others. She has flame-red hair, milky-white skin, and a stunning, curvy body. Her breasts are perky, but not too big, and her pussy is nicely shaved and clean. I begin to gently caress my belly, running small circles over my navel with the tips of my fingers—it almost tickles, as I graze the skin gently, but it’s making me progressively wetter as I look through the pi
ctures and imagine Matt tugging on his gorgeous cock to the model. I kept turning the pages slowly, deliciously enjoying the feast of hot girls and cool wine when, suddenly, I almost choke on my drink .
Dead-ringer…mirror image…a girl that looks pretty much INDENTICAL to me. The page where her legs are spread wide apart, leaving nothing to the imagination, has a piece of scrap paper attached—a homemade bookmark of sorts. Seeing that something is scribbled on the other side, I turn it over and read :
Looks like Sasha !
Well, 1) that’s my name and, 2) That girl looks exactly like me…coincidence? I think not !
It starts to make sense. He is actually quite flirtatious with both me and Ems, but with me especially. Sex is his favourite topic to talk about, and he always asks me why I don’t bring a fella back. I’ve always been too shy to act on anything before, and to be honest he’s such a piss-taker that I never really thought anything of it. To me, it’s just his way of teasing me. I was also afraid that if he knocked me back, I would be so mortified that I’d made a right fool of myself that I’d probably have to move out. I don’t think I could live with the shame. But now…oh, now it feels different entirely—the dirty bugger !
With this revelation spinning wild in my head, I can feel my sex clench up and start to lubricate even more. I feel so incredibly horny at the thought of Matt wanking over a girl that’s my spitting-image. Fantasising of him coming home, to find me in his bed, I decide to really make myself comfortable. By now, my body surges with lust and I could just burst out of my own skin. The pleasure that first began to build up in my legs, and my groin, starts to completely take over every inch of me. I can’t resist any longer. I know it’s wrong but I want to touch myself right here and now—on his bed. Knowing later, that I masturbated on his sheets, with him oblivious and probably wanking himself silly over my duple-ganger, sends me right over the edge. Fuck it—it was playtime !
I take off my belt and unfasten the buttons on my jeans. As each button is so bloody difficult to unloosen, I just rip them off. I’m just too sex hungry to care—hell with it, the jeans don’t fit anyway. I wriggle free from them, contorting my body like a prisoner to escape my shackles. Kicking off the last leg of the jeans, I can feel the skin of my smooth and freshly shaven legs tingle with anticipation .
I tear off my singlet and whip off my bra. I want to be fully naked under Matt’s sheets. I then claw at my boobs, as my other hand begins to rub my sex over the top of my black silk panties. I moan in delight as I turn to my side and push my nose back into Matt’s pillow, snorting up his fragrance and imagining he was here with me. Without bothering to remove my knickers, I slip a finger underneath the fabric and trace the slit of my pussy, gradually pressing harder at the juicy opening until, finally, I push a finger deep inside. I bite hard on my bottom lip and shut my eyes tight as I picture Matt eagerly pushing his fingers inside me .
I begin to rub my clit clockwise, as I think of his toned body, and what it would look like by my side, doing this instead of me. I squeal in delight. It feels so good .
I can’t imagine this will take too much time; I was already so close to climax—a world record for me. If only I had Matt here. I wonder what his thick penis would feel like, fucking me over and over. As I continue to rub and finger my pussy I clench up, imagining just how hard he would be .
I masturbate with greater intensity, allowing myself to get completely lost in the moment. There is no tenderness in my fantasy, no soft kisses, no thoughts of love—it’s primal and raw. I just want him hard and want him now. All the build-up that I’d normally crave, all the foreplay, was no good to me right now. I’ve been starved of sex for months. Jesus, I think I’d even settle for Nigel—the creep from last month’s internet date that went awry! I was well and truly gagging for it .
I open my eyes as I finger-fuck my hole faster, looking at the ceiling mirror that he has strategically positioned above his bed—what a vain twat Matt is—still, how hot would it be to watch yourself being fucked? I stop for a quick second and reach down for one of the empty beer bottles— oh…my…god. Am I going to do this? Am I? My hands felt good but I needed to feel something, anything, that felt like a cock penetrate me. It would be a waste not to act out what deviant little thoughts invaded my head—I’ve already gone this far .
I place the tip of the bottle against my soft wet slit, and push slowly. As it starts to fill my hungry pussy I scream in delight, almost enveloping the whole bottle. I begin to push and pull the thing in and out, closing my eyes as the object warms up to my hot vagina, making my strokes faster, as my sex clings to its every inch. My toes curl as I feel the first wave crash through me. Just as I’m about to open up to the most incredible orgasm that has been several long months overdue, I hear an almighty bang .
I jolt upright, yanking the bottle out of me and shoving it under the duvet .
Shit!
Someone’s home…already ?
I wait, holding onto my heavy breath. No other sound follows. It could be Emma… but…the house still feels empty. Maybe it was the postman, or just some junk-mail shoved through the door? I let out a relived sigh, half-disgusted but still, and more importantly, half-satisfied. I lie back down on the sheets and start over, quietly rubbing my clit with my thumb, as my forefingers take place of the bottle again, pushing in, and then out, in long firm strokes. I had to finish, it was too good and too amazing not to .
BANG!
The bedroom door crashes open. I grab the duvet, pull it over my head, and hide underneath .
I could die .
3
“S asha?”
Fuck.
It’s Matt .
Ohmygod!
“What the hell are you doing in my bed ?”
I don’t answer. Like a child, thinking that if I hide in my cocoon the monster would just go away, I remain perfectly still and silent. Unfortunately, 1) I am not a little girl hiding from some bedtime monster, 2) this is Matt—the object of my depraved fantasy and, 3) I am in his bed, naked, masturbating to the point of my first orgasm in months. How the hell was I gonna squirm out of this ?
“Well, Sasha. What the fuck’s going on ?”
Oh no. He’s pissed. I tentatively pull the duvet down to reveal half of my flustered face—damp matted hair covers my eyes .
“I…I fell asleep,” I say, sheepishly .
“Asleep?”
“Mhm.”
“Asleep, in my bed?” he chuckles. “Why ?”
I just shake my head and close my eyes. How I wish I was Dorothy—THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME…THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME …
“Jesus…you nutter!” He laughs and begins to tug the duvet away from me .
“NO!” I scream .
“YES! You’re in my bed so I have the right to chuck you out .”
We play tug of war for what seems like an eternity, but is more likely only thirty seconds, when he rips the quilt clean off the bed. I curl into a foetal position, to hide away my naughty bits. For a few seconds he just stands there, staring at me like I’m some sort of head-case .
“I know what it looks like,” I say .
“You have no idea .”
I watch him as he scans the bed and the floor with his eyes. Jeans on floor—check. Knickers off—check. Beer bottle on bed, well and truly fucked—check .
“Christ, if you wanted to play with yourself on my bed all you had to do was ask .”
“I—”
“You freak .”
He goes over to his wardrobe, grabs a towel and flings it at me. “Here. Clean yourself up, I’m making coffee .”
Once he’s left the room I pull the duvet back up over my head, and roll up into a ball of complete shame. That’s it. How can I live with him now? What if he tells Emma? God, I’ll never hear the end of it .
After a good five minutes, staring into the abyss of shame —which is really just the wall of the duvet—I finally peel myself out of bed, arrange my clothes, and shuffle t
owards the bedroom door as meek and as quiet as a church mouse. Just before I leave his room, I stop. Looking back to the magazine stash, it hits me—why should I be the only one embarrassed? He has a porn mag with practically my twin in it, along with a sticky bookmark saying, “Looks like Sasha .”
After a minute mulling over the crime scene, I now start to feel a little cunning. He needs my discretion as much as I need his. Otherwise we’d both be cannon-fodder of Em’s ridicule .
It was time to barter with the boy .
4
I walk into the kitchen with a swagger that defies my original coyness at being caught out. I knew I had an ace up my sleeve to play. Maybe, just maybe, I may get a little bonus action from Mr. Studmuffin himself .
At first he doesn’t hear me come in. He is concentrating on preparing his regular cup of percolated coffee and bowl of grapefruit with sunflower seeds—his idea of a cheat meal .
I cough into my fist to grab his attention. He sharply looks around and, in doing so, drops a slice of his grapefruit. No doubt he is a little startled, seeing as I’m dressed in only his shirt. I left a few buttons undone for added effect, and the fact that it barely hangs off me, completes the sexy, “just-out-of-bed look” nicely methinks .
He points to his shirt. “So…uh…why are you — ”
“Sorry, but my clothes are ruined. Popped the buttons clean of my jeans and tore my singlet. I was in such a rush you see. I couldn’t wait to get to it .”
He swallows hard, as if his heart jumped into his mouth. “Get…to it ?”
Well…I’ve never seen him this tongue-tied before. This could be fun .
“To touch myself,” I say, running a finger down my chest .
He turns back to his coffee and tries to look busy, diverting his attention away from my gaze. But I can already see from the bulge in his shorts, that he is well and truly aroused. I saunter up behind him. “Your magazine got me all hot and horny .”
