Come Play With Me Again Page 9

  Will must have sensed it too, because he only gave her another three strokes before putting the toy sword down. He caressed her cheeks, his fingers soft and cool.

  Abbie sighed at the pleasurable sensation and Jen smiled, watching Abbie as she wriggled in response to Will’s touch. Then Jen released her wrists and slipped off the bed. The next pair of hands Abbie felt behind her were Jen’s. They stroked the feverish skin delicately, both soothing her and intensifying the heat. Sugar and spice. Then the girl’s fingers slipped down between her cheeks and pressed up against the pulsing dampness they found there.

  Desire swept through Abbie and she gave a little cry as she felt Jen peeling her knickers down, exposing her sex. It was all she could do not to let her legs buckle and drop her to the floor at the girl’s feet. Even the thought of it filled her with lust, the image of herself kneeling before the Elvish queen. And Abbie moaned in ecstasy as Jen drew her fingers across her dewy slit.

  ‘Mmmm,’ Jen murmured, seeming pleased by what she found.

  Abbie gasped at each surge of pleasure brought by Jen’s touch. The soft, feminine fingers probed and stroked the slick folds, coming close but never quite reaching her clit. Blood pounded in Abbie’s head and she writhed in frustration as she tried to direct the girl. But she sensed Jen was having fun teasing her.

  Finally, she could bear it no longer. Her body was already racing towards a powerful climax and she didn’t want the fun to end so soon. She crept forward onto the bed and turned to look at her guests.

  Jen smiled from one to the other. Then, after only a moment’s hesitation, she began unlacing her white dress.

  * * *

  The expression on Abbie’s face was delightful, a combination of surprise and overwhelming arousal. Jen had only been with one other girl before, a clumsy, drunken encounter with a friend at uni. She could tell Abbie was more experienced. Even so, Jen’s sudden participation in their little game seemed to have wrong-footed her somewhat. It was a new sensation for Jen to be in control, and she decided she liked it very much.

  She looked at Will to gauge his reaction to her boldness and was pleased to see the bulge in his trousers. She left her dress half undone and offered him a winsome smile as she sidled closer and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt, exposing a fit and well-muscled torso.

  Behind her she could hear rustling on the bed as Abbie undressed and she turned to watch, not wanting to miss a moment. There wasn’t much for Abbie to take off and she was soon stripped bare and fully on display, lying with her legs splayed enticingly. She cupped her full breasts in both hands and then tweaked the nipples into stiff little peaks. Jen felt a hot twinge of desire flood her body and her hands trembled at the laces of her dress.

  They were too shaky to manage the fastening and she sagged gratefully against Will as he came to her aid, undressing her before the gorgeous, lustful girl waiting for them both on the bed. He peeled the dress open, revealing her rather smaller breasts and her chaste white knickers.

  ‘Beautiful,’ Abbie said, watching the show. ‘So beautiful.’

  ‘Absolutely lovely,’ Will agreed.

  When she stood naked before them both she felt a surge of power, a kind of freedom she had never known before. She had been the object of desire for both of them. They had both thought to seduce her. Now they would share her and pleasure her and she need feel nothing but delight. Truly this was a fantasy come true.

  Will guided her to the bed and laid her down beside Abbie while he undressed. Abbie didn’t wait for him to join them. She pulled Jen to her and kissed her hard while exploring her body, squeezing her breasts, fitting them into her palms and stimulating the nipples with lazy movements of her fingers. Then Abbie drew her fingers down along the expanse of pale skin to where Jen was wet and ready. Her sex was throbbing, aching with need.

  Behind her Jen felt Will’s warm hands on her shoulders, guiding her as Abbie pushed her back on the bed. She lay lightly in Will’s arms while Abbie dipped her head between Jen’s legs. At first the kisses were gentle, delicate, with an occasional flick of the tongue. Then Abbie began to lick and suck hungrily at the hard knot of Jen’s clit.

  All Jen could do was surrender to the sensations. Sharp little gasps and cries escaped her and she found herself struggling against the onslaught of such pleasure. Will held her down, just as she had held Abbie earlier. The lines of power were fluid and ever-changing. It was dizzying, euphoric. She buried one hand in Abbie’s hair and with the other reached behind her for Will’s cock. She grasped the hard, warm length of it and his own fingers found her stiffening nipples.

  When it came, the climax was unlike anything Jen had experienced before. Every inch of her flesh felt alive and stimulated. She loosed a breathless cry to the ceiling as waves of sensation crashed against her, devastating her. Afterwards, she melted into a heap on the bed, battered by delicious aftershocks as both lovers stroked her.

  It didn’t take her long to drift back to earth, to realise she wanted more. They all did.

  Abbie clambered to her knees and positioned herself on all fours, looking back over her shoulder at Will. Jen gasped at the sight of her bright red bottom, at the vivid stripes painted across it by the katana. And as Will positioned himself behind Abbie, Jen slipped beneath her and pushed her face into the pillowy softness of Abbie’s breasts. Abbie arched her back, responding to both Will’s thrusting cock and Jen’s eager tongue. Now it was her turn to bring pleasure, a task she relished.

  Abbie and Will came together, and afterwards the trio lay in a heap together on the bed, limbs tangled and entwined. No one spoke for a long time. No one seemed to know what to say.

  After a while there was a noise from the corridor. It sounded like the roar of a dragon. It was followed by the sound of phaser fire and the distinctive WHISH! of a lightsaber.

  The three exchanged glances and looked around the room at their scattered pieces of costume. Will was first on his feet.

  ‘Ladies,’ he said, picking up his umbrella, ‘we’re needed.’

  The Babysitter

  Alegra Verde

  Leonard was a cherubic kid with bright-red cheeks and a springy little body that catapulted along and presented itself for hugs and kisses at unexpected moments. His dad, Max, was a big guy, tall, sort of a younger, nerdy Liam Neeson, with a head full of unruly dark hair. He was a civil engineer; he designed, built and maintained water- and waste-treatment facilities. I’m Delia, 26 years old, nearly finished with my master’s degree in history, and babysitting Leonard was the perfect gig. He’s an easygoing kid so it wasn’t hard work and I had plenty of time to study.

  Every morning Max would walk Leonard to preschool and then he’d take the subway to work. He worked all hours and I was charged with picking Leonard up from school and seeing that he was fed, feted, bathed and amused until bedtime. If his dad had to work late and hadn’t made it home in time, I tucked Leonard in for the night. There was no mother. No name, no photos, no floral tablecloths and pink napkins, no brushes with long strands abandoned in the bathroom, no lone glove with skinny fingers lost on the floor of the hall closet. There was no sign that a woman had ever shared this space. It was as though she had never existed, as though there had always been only Leonard and Max.

  Max was a good dad and he paid me well. When he got home in time, he always ate with Leonard, no matter what I’d prepared. Smiling-faced eggs and cheese were greeted with gusto and eaten with the same relish as beans and dogs. He sat in front of the television and watched SpongeBob, laughing and debating the antics of the various sea creatures. At bedtime, he read Leonard chapters from Mark Twain and Robert Louis Stevenson, insisting that I keep the story going when he had to work late.

  Leonard was a happy kid, always had a good appetite and usually fell asleep after I’d read him his chapter. I’d hug him, tuck his warm little body in snugly, pulling the covers up to his chin, and he’d turn to his side and present his cheek for a good night kiss. He would be asleep by 7.3
0 and I’d have my books splayed across the chrome and Formica kitchen table by 7.45.

  Sometimes Max didn’t get home until midnight, but usually he was home by nine. After peeking in on Leonard, he’d rummage through the refrigerator for sandwich fixings that he prepared on the counter top. Then, plate in hand, he’d grunt a goodnight in my direction as he headed to his bedroom.

  Since the first time he’d come in and found me bent over his kitchen table with my books, notes and timelines, he’d insisted that I shouldn’t let his entrance disturb me, that I should continue my work. Sometimes I’d stay over, especially if he got home really late. There was a tiny room in the back behind the kitchen. It was used mostly for storage, but it must have been used to house the maid when the building was built back in the 1920s. It had a comfortable daybed wedged into a corner amidst a dozen or so boxes and a dusty Nautilus.

  Max had offered to make the position live-in, saying that he would clear the room out and store his things elsewhere, but I liked having my own apartment. He complained that he didn’t like to see me leave so late at night. He worried that I might be accosted going to or from my car. If anything happened to me, he said that he’d feel at fault. As an incentive, he said it wouldn’t affect my pay, and that I could just save the rent money. But he stopped pushing when I stayed firm and explained that I liked the thought of him and Max spending their mornings together, just the two of them, and that I liked having my own place, a place of solitude that I could return to. After a very embarrassing incident that occurred a few weeks later, I was really glad I’d chosen not to live in.

  It was nearly three in the morning. Max had worked late so I’d slept over and had fallen asleep on the daybed, textbook in hand. My full bladder awakened me and I stumbled down the hall to the bathroom, half-asleep. Since it was the middle of the night and this was supposed to be a quick trip, I saw no problem in making the dash in my camisole and panties.

  Refreshed after relieving my bladder, I padded back down the hall. But, as I passed Max’s room, I heard a groan. It sounded like someone was in pain so I stopped to listen. The groan came again.

  ‘Max,’ I said standing in his doorway. The room was dark, but he always kept the door open in case Leonard needed him.

  ‘Max,’ I whispered. ‘Are you OK?’

  The groan came again accompanied by a slippery sound.

  It took a minute or so for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room.

  The hallway was always lit by a small night-light, again in case Leonard got up. But Max’s room was lit only by the grey light of the moon that seeped through the curtains at the window on the far side of his bed.

  When my eyes finally began to adjust, I could see Max sitting on the edge of the bed. He wore no pajama top, but that wasn’t surprising.

  ‘Max, are you OK? I thought I heard …’ I whispered, moving closer and leaning in so he could hear me, but by then I saw that he had no PJs on at all, or at least the bottoms were open and shoved down around his hips and his hand was gripping his large, engorged penis.

  I was so stunned I couldn’t think what to say and I forgot to move. Like a doe blinded by headlights, I stood frozen as he continued to tug at his penis. His fisted hand was tight, jerking the skin upward in rapid succession; his breath was harsh and rasping and his eyes were on me. Then, with his other hand, he reached up and touched me. His large fingers were tentative at first, but when I didn’t move they were suddenly splayed over my right breast, fondling it, his thumb teasing the nipple through the silk of my camisole. And still I stood there, a slow wet heat pooling between my legs and dampening my panties as I watched Max, one hand fisted around his penis and the other stroking my breast. I just stood there letting him touch me, his eyes on mine locking me in place. My nipples were tight, straining against the fabric. I shivered as I felt a lazy trickle of pleasure between my legs. I wanted his fingers down there, but instead they eased the thin strap of my camisole off my shoulder, freeing my right breast.

  I knew it was job suicide to fraternise with an employer like this, but the heat in my panties had become a hunger. I wanted to touch him, to feel that solid flesh sliding into me. Hell, I could get another job. Maybe not as nice as this one, but I didn’t care any more. All I could think about was pulling off my camisole and pressing my naked breasts against that wide expanse of rock-hard chest while I impaled myself on that beautifully stiff penis.

  I lifted a hand to trail a finger across the broad shoulder nearest me, but he flinched and moved back an inch, one hand suspended, caught in the silky cloth of my top, the other frozen in mid-stroke.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ he whispered in a voice that was both angry and frightened. ‘I don’t like to be touched.’

  Yet he continued to touch me, his hand stroking my naked breast, a finger toying with the aching nipples that seemed to tighten more with each pass of his finger tip, with each pluck as he squeezed and pulled them. Then his large hand trailed down to my stomach, flattened, palm against my navel, heat to heat. I stood still, hands at my side, waiting as his fingers dipped into the waistband of my panties, grazing the hair there as they tugged at the elastic. Two large fingers slid down between my nether lips, luxuriating in the wetness there, rasping my swollen clitoris, and then he was coming, with a groan like the one that had lured me here, but louder, a painful wrenching followed by an eruption, some of which splashed onto my hip and down my thigh.

  After a second or three, I turned and ran back to the safety of the storage room. He didn’t follow me, but I locked the door anyway. I lay there wide awake watching as the sun slowly brightened the room, the light going from grey to yellow. I didn’t leave the room until I was sure Leonard and Max had dressed and left for school and work. I could hear Leonard telling his dad that he should wake me up. I’d left my books stacked on one of the kitchen chairs so he knew I was still there. Max told him that I probably needed my sleep, adding, ‘We should let Delia get her rest because she works really hard caring for us.’ I imagined Leonard nodded to that as he chomped on cinnamon-sugared toast and drank his milk.

  Max called me on my cell later that afternoon. He wanted to be sure that I was going to pick Leonard up from school. He’d never done that before. I knew it was because he was nervous about the night before. After several pauses, he said he was sorry and that he hoped he hadn’t frightened me too much. He sounded miserable, embarrassed and worried. So I told him it was OK, that we should just forget about ‘last night’. He apologised again and said that he’d like to offer some compensation, and that he really wanted to make it up to me, that he didn’t want me to think badly of him. I listened and eventually told him the truth of how I felt, that he was a good father, a good employer, and from what I’d seen a good man. I tried to explain that he hadn’t hurt me and that I didn’t want anything from him. I just wanted to forget about it.

  What I didn’t add was that I felt sorry for him because he seemed lonely and that I could see how it might be difficult to find someone with whom he could be physical. He was raising a four-year-old and working all the time. He didn’t really date; he didn’t have time. And that not-liking-to-be-touched thing, that was a whole other obstacle, one I didn’t want to think about, let alone discuss.

  That night we pretended to forget about it. Max ate cheese broccoli and French fries with Leonard, and I left after loading the dishwasher. The rest of the week I went home as soon as I could get away. Max was home every night in time to put Leonard to bed and, whenever he spoke to me, his eyes were hooded or he had his back to me as if he was afraid to look at me, afraid he might see condemnation. At the end of the week, my pay envelope had an extra $300 in it. I didn’t try to return it. I didn’t say anything about it because I didn’t want to make him any more uncomfortable than he already was.

  After a month or so, we’d gotten back to our normal routine. Max could look at me when he spoke and we could laugh together at Leonard’s antics. I imagined he even looked at me with a new wa
rmth, as if we’d grown closer because I had kept my word and his secret. He knew he could trust me.

  About a week later, I’d fallen asleep in the storage room because Max had worked late again. I woke up when I heard his key in the lock, but I was too tired to leave so I just dumped my books on the floor, shed the confinement of my jeans, shirt and bra and slipped under the comforter.

  I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke out of a deep sleep because I heard the rustling of papers and the slide and thump of books. When I opened my eyes the dark mop of Max’s tousled hair bobbed in my line of vision as he squatted, feet bare, gathering my books and papers and stacking them in a neat pile near one of the file boxes.

  Surprised by the intrusion, I sat up, forgetting that I was sans bra.

  ‘Max?’ I rubbed the sleep from my eyes.

  The sound of my voice seemed to startle him. He fell back and landed on his backside, just a foot or so from the bed. He wore a burgundy terrycloth robe belted loosely at the waist, and it appeared he wore nothing under it. It gaped open, revealing the thick dark hair of his chest, as well as the sparser hair on thigh and leg. Thankfully, the parts that mattered remained shielded as he shifted to get up, balancing on one knee, until he was kneeling in front of me.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you a great deal,’ he began as though I hadn’t been sleeping, as though the conversation had begun even before he’d acquired a listener. ‘About that night.’

  I was awake now, and fully aware of my near-naked state so I pulled the comforter up to my chin.

  ‘I was hoping,’ he was saying to the carpet, ‘that you would let me touch you again.’

  He waited, but when I didn’t say anything he added, ‘You said I didn’t hurt you … and I would compensate you.’