"You kept poking me with the thing in your sleep," Carol said in mock anger as she climbed up on the boy, straddling his thighs while putting his stiff manhood into her pussy.
"I love you," Brandon said, reaching up and grabbing her swaying boobs while she rode him like a cowgirl.
"If you love me," Carol gasped. "Make sure you don't cum before me," and while it was close, Brandon managed to hold up until Carol started to scream while doing a crazy sort of dance on his lap.
***
"Brandon honey, I can't," Carol declared sometime after lunch. "My pussy is so sore. Look at it. I'll bet it's rubbed raw."
"Can't really see on account of it's so hairy," Brandon mused as he raked his fingers through Carol's bush.
"Well maybe I'll shave it," Carol said, to which Brandon practically screamed, "NO!"
"Yeah, I guess it is kinda red," Brandon admitted.
Carol looked at the kid which the erection that wouldn't go away and shook her head, amazing at not only his virility but the way he looked at her like she hadn't been looked at in years.
"If you want, you can try putting it somewhere else," Carol suggested, and when she saw the confused look on his face she got up on all fours and backed up toward him.
"Wow, it's got hair around that too," Brandon said, observing the circle of blonde hairs around Carol's tan puckered ring.
"Then I suspect you must like it," Carol snapped.
"What do I do?"
"Lube it up. There's lotion on the night table. Lick it, I don't care," Carol added, and then after she felt Brandon face press between her cheeks she yelped, "I was only kidding - ooh."
"This good?" Brandon asked after his tongue burrowed into the steamy crack, the pungent taste and aroma somehow inflaming him.
"Omigod!" Carol groaned. "What a tongue you have. Yes. It's good... so good. Put some lotion on your cock - stick a finger in first - two. Now stick your dick in."
Brandon scrambled up to his knees and fumbled around the tiny orifice before finally working the tip of his member in.
"It's so tight," Brandon grunted as he struggled to insert his cock into Carol's anus.
"Don't stop now - push!" Carol cried out, then Brandon lurched forward while his cock slid all the way in to the hilt, and while it didn't last long Brandon obviously enjoyed it, and after coating Carol bowels with his seed he waited until his limp dick slithered out before collapsing on the bed next to his lover.
"I think I've just about corrupted you completely," Carol mused as Brandon smothered her with affection. "Where were you 24 years ago?"
"Uh - not even born," Brandon said sheepishly. "Why? What happened 24 years ago?"
"I made a mistake, one of many in my life," Carol said. "I married somebody I thought I loved, and I've been paying for it ever since."
"Oh yeah. Well, if I was alive back then I would have married you in a minute," Brandon said. "That would be awesome. I would do anything for you."
"I know," Carol said, her eyes getting misty as she reached over and touched Brandon's cheek. "Someday, you're going to meet somebody and fall in love..."
"I love you," Brandon said. "I haven't known you all that long, I know, but I love everything about you."
"Like I said, someday you'll find somebody your own age," Carol continued. "When you do find her and get married and all that, do me a favor. Hell, do yourself a favor. If you get mad at each other say your piece, make your point and then walk away."
"Yeah, that's what my Dad does," Brandon explained. "After they start yelling he throws up his arms and yells, what's the use and goes down to the basement and bangs away on this bookcase he's been building for years. Usually later that night after we go to bed, I hear the bed squeaking."
"That's the way to do it," Carol chuckled. "Don't hit, not even once. Don't even think of hitting, because once you do it..."
"Your husband. He hit you? With his hands?"
"Slaps, fists, and if he happened to have something in his hands at the time - hey!" Carol said as she watched Brandon go to pieces in front of her eyes, crying uncontrollably in her arms. "Hey! Brandon? It's okay. It's over."
Carol held the boy while he sobbed until he ran out of tears. "Didn't mean to upset you. You're a sensitive kid."
"If I ever see him I'll kill him,' Brandon muttered, and the determined look on the boy's face would have been comical to the woman if he wasn't so serious.
"No you won't, honey," Carol said. "He might not even find me this time. Never went this far away from him before. He'll be out of jail soon, but I didn't tell anybody where I was going this time, so I think I'll be okay here. This is a nice town, and I like my neighbors."
"There, that's better," Carol announced when she managed to get a smile out of Brandon. "Now that you must be exhausted from all this drama, maybe you'll let me finish moving into this place. As much as I enjoy your company, I can't be humping in bed all day."
"My folks think I've been looking for a summer job," Brandon admitted. "Guess I better actually look."
"Good idea. Find a job and make some money for your college books," Carol said. "Just don't forget about me. I forgot what it was like without you underfoot."
"You mean you still want me to come over?" Brandon asked, and after Carol assured him that she did he looked relieved. "Oh. I thought you were trying to get rid of me."
"No way. Never had anybody this crazy about me before, and crazy is the right word," Carol said. "So until you find a nice girl, feel free to come on over any time after breakfast and jump my bones."
***
Carol did eventually unpack her boxes, and Brandon even found a job stocking shelves at a supermarket. The limited hours he got left him plenty of time to visit Carol, and by the end of summer he was spending most of his time at Carol's, even sleeping over from time to time.
Unfortunately Brandon also got the opportunity to meet Carol's husband. The lad had just gotten out of work at 9 and rode his bike at top speed so he could run through his house, say hello to his folks and then weasel out the back door and over the fence, but something was wrong.
There was an old pickup truck in front of Carol's house, and there was a lot of yelling going on, so Brandon hopped off his bike after pulling in the driveway.
A voice from his house startled him. It was his father's.
"I called the police, son," his father said, leaning out the window. "Don't go over there."
Brandon was already on his way though, running to Carol's front door, and after finding it locked raced around to the back. The door was ajar, and after Brandon pushed it open he saw this giant of a man in the middle of the living room. which was trashed.
"Who the fuck are you?" the grubby looking guy snarled.
"Brandon! Leave!" came the scream from further in the room, and when Brandon looked down he saw Carol on the floor, her blouse half ripped off of her and blood pouring out of a cut above her right eye. "NO!!!"
Brandon was already halfway across the room by then, screaming and cursing as he launched himself toward the behemoth, swinging, scratching and clawing at Carol's husband, hellbent on doing what he had sworn he would do if he ever saw him.
***
In Hollywood, the good guys would have won, the bad guy would have been vanquished and everybody would have lived happily ever after, but Kingston, New York isn't Hollywood.
After landing a couple of punches, blows that mostly only infuriated Carol's husband, and climbing on his back while attempting to claw his eyeballs out of their sockets, Brandon got shrugged off and was nearly put through the living room wall before getting picked up and knocked out with one punch.
When Brandon woke up, the police were there along with an ambulance and there was blood all over the place. Some was his, some was Carol's and some was her husband's, because while Brandon's attack wasn't effective by itself, it had allowed Carol time to pick up a hammer and nail her distracted tormentor in the back of the head.
He managed to st
agger out of the place just before the police arrived, promising to be back, leaving Brandon and Carol behind to get stitched up.
"They'll get him," Brandon said to Carol after the police took the information but Carol shook her head.
"He's slicker than shit," she said. "He'll elude them or just get a few months in jail and be out again. Time for me to fly."
"You can't just keep running," he told the love of his life and implored her to stay ever though Brandon's motives had a degree of selfishness attached. "I'll protect you."
"You were amazing Brandon," carol said. "What you did - nobody ever loved me that much to do anything like that. Next time though he will probably be better prepared knowing I might not be alone, and I can't drag you down into my hell."
Carol was gone in a couple of days and though she told him she would let him know where she moved to when she settled in, he knew better.
"You won't because you know I'll follow you," Brandon said.
"Smart kid - man I mean," Carol agreed. "That's my way of telling you I love you. Maybe someday though, if he ever gets put away for good like he should..."
Brandon held out home for quite a while, hoping against hope that the call or a letter would come, but they never did and after a time his hopes of rejoining his love changed to a hope that she was alright and was having a normal life. The alternative ending was something he couldn't even think about.
Somebody else moved in to that place next door eventually but they had to do their own lawn and didn't have to worry about anybody looking out the window at them. Brandon still looked over there though, but when he did all he ever saw was the bubbly woman with the sassy smile that had changed his life and made him a man.
The End.
The Interview
I had the process down to a fine art -- click print, run to the bathroom to dry my hair, zip the skirt, and finally put on a tiny bit of makeup. Step two - quickly grab my resume, stuff it into my messenger bag, slide on my black "interview" shoes and take a deep breath as I slip out the door - while marvelling at how I have my perfect routine down pat. Step three - cleverly fail to notice the turned up edge of the carpet in the hall, trip and tumble forward as my heel snaps and tear a huge hole in my pantyhose. Yes -- smooth like butter.
Cursing under my breath, I raced back through the door hunting for fresh pantyhose and new shoes. The only black shoes I can find both of are 5" stilettos ... more cursing as the only thing I can find for my legs are nude fishnet stockings. Out of options, I put on the stockings and shoes praying that the interviewer thinks I'm just being fashionable. This was about my seventeenth interview in about ten days -- I was seriously thinking of becoming a professional applicant, screw my administrative ambitions.
I run interview questions in my head, polishing my responses up knowing that this guy would be a tense interview to say the least. The pre-interview had been intense, he spent ten minutes shooting question after question at me barely pausing to hear my answers. The 'ask' for the in person interview was more of a command on his part -- and my mind had been spinning so fast I nearly forgot to fake contemplate my 'busy' schedule.
I couldn't believe I'd even made it to round two. The job itself was as an executive assistant to a "very busy senior executive" which my best friend and I had giggled at as an oxymoron. The pay was insanely high and I knew that I was barely qualified -- but it seemed fun that my temp agency had thrown my resume into the pot. Now here I was going to meet Mr. Busy himself.
As the elevator doors open, I take my final calming breath while walking confidently to reception area. The large open area is empty except for a single neat piece of paper with black type.
"4:45 Appointment: Third office on the left, knock twice then enter."
I snickered at the odd precision of the note, but made my way down the hallway, knocked the required two times and walked in. Mr. Busy was sat behind a large dark brown desk and rose to greet me. He was younger than I expected with short brown hair and intense brown eyes that had an odd sparkle that I couldn't quite figure out.
I pegged him at about 6 ft and the picture of "business casual" black jacket, pressed white dress shirt and dark grey khakis. If we'd been in a bar and not a job interview, I would have been flirting instead of giving my warm professional smile.
"Hello, you must be Robynn," Mr. Busy greeted. "You may call me Andrew for now, have a seat."
"Pleasure to meet you, Andrew," I returned.
"Thank you for asking me to come in. Here's a copy of my resume for you as well."
Andrew looked me up and down as I took my seat across from him. I smiled politely and tried not to blush -- his eyes seemed to be doing more than the customary 'once over' but for what this job was paying, I wasn't in the position to argue.
"As I mentioned on the phone, I am looking for someone very specific to serve as my assistant. You are somewhat less experienced than the other candidates I've interviewed -- however -- talking to you on the phone, I could sense a certain spark that might prove useful."
"Thank you for giving me this chance," I replied.
"I don't give 'chances', I'm either right or wrong. I haven't gotten where I am by being indecisive or emotional or even for that matter wrong more than I am right. You have potential and today we'll see just how much potential that is."
I mentally prepared for the standard tests I knew he was going to mention -- first typing, then spelling and finally Microsoft Office -- pretend to be surprised like he's the first exec on the planet to think of software tests.
"Andrew, I think you'll find my scores from the agency quite exceptional. I type on average 52 words per minute with a 99% accuracy. I also have my certification in all the standard 2007 MS Office products in addition to experience with Visio and MS Project."
"I appreciate you attempt to anticipate my evaluation of you, Robynn, however you are quite wrong. I saw your resume. I know you have the technical skills -- hell the other four girls vying for this job have your skills. What you need to do is show me how YOU are different from them. Do you want this job?"
"Yes," I replied slightly embarrassed at my misstep and confused as to what he planned on evaluating. I made my own executive decision and decided just to go with the flow.
"Good answer. Are you wearing stockings?"
"Yes," I blushed.
"Why did you choose stockings? Fishnet stockings at that, hardly something most would choose to wear to an interview."
"I tripped on my way out the door and tore my stockings and these are all tha...."
He cut me off, "what if I told you to wear stockings every day."
"I would," I responded with barely a flicker of hesitation. I blushed.
"You would," he smiled slightly. "Good answer. Stand up."
I did. I started to get a nervous flutter in my stomach and my mind raced trying to figure out what would be next. I had no idea if this guy was for real, but part of me really wanted to find out.
"Come here and stand in front of me," he commanded. I did.
"Now, listen carefully," he said as his fingers graced my outer thighs. "I expect complete obedience. Unquestioning compliance and every move you make when you are with me is for my benefit. You will learn to anticipate things that I will like and enjoy; that is a sign of intelligence."
"Like the fishnets and those heels. They may have started as an accident on your part -- however -- if you prove useful to me...they will be part of your daily uniform. Would that bother you?"
"No, not at all," I said. My mind was racing with anticipation. My legs tingled as his fingers slid higher up my thighs. The electricity that seemed to flow from his finger tips was making me weak.
"Take off your shirt, bra and skirt."
I did and tossed my clothes over the chair I had been sitting in. He stared at my breasts, not surprising, they were a round, firm 40DDD complete with bright pink nipples standing at attention. I took a step forward as his left hand slid between my legs and his right sta
rted rubbing his cock through his pants. I could feel his fingers slipping past my panties and I could already tell I was soaking wet. My breath caught in my throat as he pinched my clit.
"So you only look like the proper little assistant, really you're a little slut aren't you? Let's see it," he demanded. "Panties off and get on the desk, now."
I slid my panties off and hopped up on the desk. I opened my legs wide to be in line with the legs of the desk and leaned forward on my arms.
"Good girl."
I could hear him unzipping, and heard a bit of rustling around. I didn't dare bring my head up to see what he was doing, but I was getting even more excited wondering what he was planning. Suddenly I felt a firm hand on my ankle, felt something tighten and then a light click of what sounded like a lock. He repeated it on the left ankle and I my legs were immobile. My heart was pounding hard.
He slid his fingers up and down my wet pussy stopping only to flick the barbell at my clit. "You'll have to meet a lot of needs for me and make no mistake, I will treat you very well -- if you do everything and anything I ask of you. Do you think you can handle that?"
"Yes sir," I whispered.
"Good girl."
I could feel him walk between my spread legs. I took a deep nervous breath.
"You think I'm going to fuck that wet little pussy of yours don't you?"
"Yes, sir."
"Oh, you are very right, but I'm going to do a hell of a lot more to you than just that. Anyone can fuck or be fucked -- I need my girl to be willing to suffer for me. I need a girl who will give herself to me."
As he said that I felt two fingers slide into my pussy. I moaned involuntarily. He pulled out and slide back in with three fingers. I shivered as he slid his fingers in and out of me.
"Good girl, you want to take more don't you?"
"Yes sir," I half sighed.
He pulled out and slid in four fingers. I squeaked in pain as he pumped his hand deep into me. He pulled out and I could feel him pressing his whole hand into my tight cunt. The pressure on my stretched pussy made me pant and whimper.
Filthy Daddy's Taboo Erotic Sex Stories Page 125
