I get home late, much later than I'd meant to. Again. Far too late to see my son; I'm sure the sitter's already put him to bed hours ago. It's tough making a living but not having much of a life...but if I'm going to provide for my family, I'll do what I have to.
Some of the lights are still on, at least, and I smile to myself as I walk up the drive, looking forward to a slice of cold pizza and a late-night chat with Emma. It's almost embarrassing to say, but lately I've been working so much my only socializing has been with my son's babysitter.
Something seems off, though, as I come through the front door and walk down the hall. The TV's still on in the living room, but Emma's nowhere to be found. Usually she's lounging on the couch, folding laundry and watching some cooking show or another. Not this time -- the room's empty, as are the kitchen and dining room.
"Emma? Tyler?"
Worried, I walk quickly to my son's room and find him sound asleep, safe and snug in his bed. I let out a sigh of relief; that's one mystery solved. But where's the sitter gone?
Could she have left early? She *has* been working hard, taking over a lot of the housework with my wife away on business so much. But it wouldn't be like her to just leave Tyler, and besides, she would've told me if something came up.
Also...that's her car still out front, I realize as I glance out the kitchen window. Perplexed, I check my phone and walk through the house once more.
That's when I notice a pair of jeans draped across the bottom of the stairs -- women's smalls, by the look of them. A gray shirt sits a few steps above that, bunched up against the wall.
My eyes narrow and I move closer, not really sure what it is I'm seeing. Did she leave some laundry laying around?
I step up to the shirt and spy a lavender B-cup bra resting on the bannister. And up on the landing above lies a silken thong, a petite garment of similar shade.
I stop dead in my tracks, staring at it. What the hell...
I climb the stairs with a sudden sense of foreboding, unable to tear my eyes away from that little scrap of silk. Up ahead the door to my bedroom lies ajar, a soft glowing light emanating from within. My heart hammers in my chest, my mouth gone dry, and it's almost fearfully that I approach, pushing on the handle and stepping in.
Inside I find Emma.
She's dressed in my wife's lingerie, lying across the foot of the bed, her slender young body lit by candlelight. Her pale skin is bare save for the small bits covered by the matching baby blue g-string and bra. My wife's pearls are around her neck and in her ears, and her makeup is sultry and subtle, a flush of excitement coloring her cheeks, her red-brown hair cascading down her shoulders.
"Hi Mister L," she says in a shaky voice, biting her lip.
"Emma wh...what? What is this?" I stop and stare, struggling to process what it is I'm seeing; she gives me a nervous, doe-eyed look, the color of her eyes almost the same as the lingerie.
"Don't you...like it?" she asks shyly, cringing subtly under my disbelieving gaze.
I do like it -- that's the problem. Her skin positively glows in the half-light, smooth and supple, her nearly-bared body a forbidden delight I'd never realized I needed. Until now. My hands start to shake. She looks so much better in that outfit than my wife ever has.
"Emma I...I don't understand," I stammer, backing away a step and fumbling to shut the door behind me.
"I wanted to surprise you," she smiles nervously. "I thought you might want to relax. After a long day at work."
She bites her lip again and slides off the bed, stepping lightly on bare feet across the space between us. My heart feels like it's about to burst out of me as she draws near, her petite body barely as tall as my chest.
"Oh god Emma...I can't...we can't..." I step away again, my back to the door now, my mouth gone dry.
"We *can*," she says emphatically, imploring me with her eyes, touching my work shirt with her fingertips. "Let me take care of you, Mr. L. I take care of everything else, I just want to...to do this too."
I shake my head and catch her wrist, trying to think straight. Trying to ignore the way my cock throbs, the way my palms itch to feel every inch of her. "Emma, I'm married. Susan would--"
"Susan's not here," she says, a flicker of resentment in her eyes. "Susan's *never* here -- she's *always* away, she's always leaving the two of you. But now...now you have me. And now it...it can be the three of us. And...and I can be better than her. For both of you."
She gives me a desperate look, leaning in against the hand that caught her wrist, rubbing her cheek against my knuckles. "Just let me, Mr. L. *Please*. You've been working so hard -- just let me. I want to...I want to be your girl. I want to be your woman. I want to have what *she* has...and I want to do it better."
Her eyes are gorgeous twin sapphires that I just can't escape; I can't fucking think straight, not when she stares at me like that. And I'm rock fucking hard. I've been so focused on work I haven't had release since I don't know when, and all of me aches as she puts her lips to the back of my hand.
"Oh god. Emma..."
*This is fucked. This is crazy. This is how you fuck your life up.*
Some small part of my brain still works at least -- but as she runs her other hand up my chest and around my neck, those contrarian thoughts get easier and easier to ignore.
She presses herself to me, and I can't fucking take it. I kiss her, hard, grabbing her slender hips and pulling her against me, my raging manhood pulsing between us. Her taste is exquisite, her lips soft and sweet; I drink her in, lost in her taste, in the way her body melts into mine. Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm lowering her wrist, guiding her hand to the bulging shape behind my zipper.
"Oh Mr. L, yes, *yes*," she moans against my lips, kissing me desperately, standing on her tiptoes to do so. All I can do is growl and groan; I'm so goddamn worked up as she grabs me through my work pants, the size of me filling her hand. I seize her pert, pale little ass, unthinking, unreasoning, only knowing a desperate, aching hunger in my loins.
"Oh my god I can feel it...Oh my god, I want it Mr. L, I *need* it. I...I need it so bad. I'll take care of it every day just let me have it *please*." She begs with me, writhing in my arms; it's too much, I feel like I'm going to fucking explode already.
"Fuck. Oh fuck. Emma...Ok. Get it sweetie. Take it out. It's yours. Tonight, it's all yours," I growl, scarcely recognizing my own rough voice.
