I pushed my hand into Sandra’s shiny black leggings and cupped her big, beautiful arse. I had to bend over a bit to get it down there, but that was fine because it allowed me to squeeze those beautiful tits hard up against me at the same time.
I nibbled her ear and whispered: “I think we should start upstairs. It can sometimes get really dirty up there.”
“Er…okay,” she said.
If you’ve just joined us, I’d better give you a quick rundown on what happened in Chapter 1 after my wife decided to take the kids away for a fortnight in Spain then called from the airport to say that a girl called Sandra was coming to see us about a cleaning job.
Sandra duly arrived, all sopping wet from the English rain. She was short and plump with lank, blonde hair and large, very pointy breasts – and by chance I was feeling horny as hell. I interviewed her carefully, gave her the job, showed her round the house, cleverly managed to soak her again with the shower, helped her dab down those tits, and gave her the smallest T-shirt I could find to cover her up.
Then I came clean and told her that maybe it wasn’t going to work out: how could she come and work in our house if she had this kind of effect on me? All I really wanted to do, I said, was touch her, kiss her, take her in my arms…
And, luckily for me, she didn’t say no, which was why I was standing in the kitchen groping a chubby 20-year-old who’d thought only 45 minutes earlier that she was just applying for a job cleaning up after me and my kids.
I took Sandra’s hand and rushed her up the stairs, eager not to lose momentum from that masterful seduction in the kitchen. What would happen if she worked out I was just a sad old fuck having a horny day? Maybe she wouldn’t care, but I decided it was best to move fast, just in case…
I dragged her straight into the master bedroom, sat down on the bed and pulled that wonderful sharp chest in towards me. My hands moved up underneath the tight, flimsy T-shirt, explored around her back and then came back round under her breasts. I inhaled deeply – there was some kind of cheap perfume still hanging around her despite the soaking. Then I lifted up the shirt and began to kiss and lick her right breast. It was smooth and pale and very pert for its size with a stiff pink nipple shooting out from a puffy areola.
“Jesus. Your breasts are just perfect,” I told her, and pulled her head down to me for another long, but increasingly passionate kiss. Weirdly enough, I started to imagine that I was kissing Jennifer, the girl I’d sat next to in geography 20 years earlier, the one who’d first given me a taste for pointy tits. I had once sucked on Jennifer’s tits at her house and today I felt like I was 15 again, my cock bursting against my jeans, my heart beating extra-fast in case her parents came home early or her brother walked in and spoiled the party.
Anyway, it was time to unveil those tits properly. As we moved back over the bed, I pulled the shirt up over Sandra’s head to leave her sitting half-naked beside me, a top-heavy little marble cherub.
But she wasn’t just a pair of tits, I reminded myself. I undressed quickly, in just a few seconds, and as we laid down widthways across the bed I slid Sandra’s leggings over her ass and down a pair of surprisingly curvaceous little legs. I took her in with a single glance from her tiny feet, past her smooth calves and thighs, belly, large pointy breasts and little piggy face, which was already covered in a thin layer of sweat.
“You’re even more lovely than I imagined when you walked into my house today,” I told her, kissing her gently. And I meant it.