The Houseguest Ch 01

Ugh, New England.

It was the first thought that crossed Dana's mind as she entered the small town of South Hadley in Massachusetts. This is the place she'd run away from to improve her career—and personal—prospects. As soon as she graduated from New York University and started working in one of the biggest PR companies in the city she'd sworn that nothing would bring her back here again.

And yet here she was.

She shook her head as she drove past the snow-filled trees in the quiet, peaceful world of suburbia. How could anyone live here, she marveled. So much silence, so much peace. She'd have to be a miserable old trout to want to live here.

As it happens, she was there to look after her aunt Ida. She'd called and informed Dana that she was feeling unwell and needed someone to look after her.

'Can't you hire someone to look after you?' Dana had ventured. Aunt Ida had a large sum of money that Uncle Steve had left her when he died peacefully in his sleep five years ago, she could afford hired help.

'I'd rather be taken care of by someone I trust, sweetpea. I don't trust them nurses who come here, eat my food and pretend to give a damn about me. I want you, honey. Can't you take a leave from that

career

of yours?'

God, she made the word 'career' sound like a terminal disease. Dana knew Aunt Ida hated the fact that she lived in New York. 'You can find a darn good job in 'round here,' she once suggested. 'This is one of the best states in the country. And you have the bonus of living a stress-free life. Not like that . . . that

city

.'

Unwilling to relent, Dana made another attempt to come up with other potential caregivers. 'Can't Aunt Norma or Uncle Jake look after you? This is a very critical time at work, Auntie. I have two clients in dire need of publicity, and I can't just leave the firm without notice.'

She'd heard Aunt Ida mumble something about no one wanting to look after her and that she'd die alone and unloved.

'Auntie, I . . . I'll see what I can do, okay? Can't someone look after you while I sort things out?'

'Oh, I suppose Mick will do for now.'

A double helix of excitement had crept through Dana's system. Mick. Michel Brown. Michel was Aunt Ida's grandson and Dana's gorgeous twenty-two-year-old cousin. The young man she'd lusted after for as long as she could remember.

'Will he be gone when I get there?' she'd asked, a mixture of hopefulness and dread swift through her stomach in the form of nausea.

'No, no, no, darling. He still lives here. My beautiful boy is a contractor in Amherst. Such a darling boy. Has grown up quite a bit. Wait till you see him.'

Michel still lived with Auntie?

She thought he'd set his ways and moved far away from there. After all, he'd always complained about living in Western Massachusetts ('the land of zero opportunities,' he once scolded), but Aunt Ida had said that he'd be there to look after her. He'd be there.

Michel Brown was going to be there!

The same feeling of dread and excitement, not to mention the tingling sensation in her loins, mingled inside her as she parked in front of Aunt Ida's old house. The house was a typical New England home, a white cottage with French windows and two acres of farmland. It had an enormous gazebo. It also had a white picket fence. The front yard—beautiful in the summer with a huge garden full of roses, orchids, eglantines, tulips, and daisies—was covered in snow.

With a nervous sigh, Dana climbed out of her SUV and rang the doorbell.

No answer.

She rang the bell again, beats of sweat forming on her forehead in spite of the cold weather. She rang several more times until she finally heard a set of footsteps approaching the door in quick succession. Dana braced herself. It could be Michel. It could well be Michel. Butterflies danced in her stomach at the prospect of seeing him again. Instead, a beautiful blonde—couldn't be older than twenty-three—opened the door.

'Well, hello there,' she greeted. 'You must be Dana. Come on in!'

The blonde grabbed Dana's suitcases and dragged them into the living room. 'I'm Camille, by the way. Mick's girlfriend.'

Ah, that figured. Michel was always into gorgeous blondes. And this one was as gorgeous as they came. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded past her shoulders in bouncy layers, and her eyes were the same color as the interesting gear she had on. She wore a lot of dark-blue denim—denim shirt, denim low-rider jeans and a denim belt. The only thing that wasn't denim was the white sleeveless top underneath her shirt. The top gave her ample breasts a peek-a-boo effect. Dana was impressed. She glanced down at her own attire. She looked like the typical city girl in her crisp white blouse, knee-length skirt and high-heel boots. She also looked neurotically put together. Not one strand of her dark hair was out of place.

'Aunt Ida is asleep, but you can go see her if you want,' Camille smiled. 'Go on. I'll bring you some bits and pieces to eat. You must be starving after that long drive.'

Memories flooded into Dana's mind as she made her way up the stairs. She remembered how Aunt Ida took care of her after her parents died in that horrible car wreck when she was ten. She made sure that Dana did her homework and went to bed at a reasonable hour. She smiled at the memory of Aunt Ida sending a chaperon to accompany her to dances and to the movies. She couldn't deny the fact that Aunt Ida had raised her well. Now it was her turn to return the favor. Despite her reluctance to come over, she knew wouldn't have turned Aunt Ida down in her time of need.

Her aunt was asleep. Her breathing was even, her expression peaceful. Her long silver hair was wrapped together with a scrunchie. Her hands were resting on her stomach. 'My auntie,' she whispered affectionately. 'My sweet auntie.'

Dana hadn't the heart to wake her up, so she left the room. She walked slowly across the long corridor and stopped in front of Michel's bedroom. It still looked the same way after three years. The only things missing were the posters of rock stars that had once dominated the white walls. But the room still had the same double bed, dresser and nightstand with a small TV on it. Michel was nineteen when she last saw him. Despite his age and relation, she felt an immense attraction for the boy with the golden hair and mesmerizing blue eyes. At the time, she couldn't help but admit that he'd grow up to be an Adonis.

The ardent attraction she'd always felt for Michel disturbed her. To her chagrin, she remembered the times in which she tip-toed to his bedroom in the middle of the night, Aunt Ida fast asleep, and watched him through the crack of the slightly open door. Dana watched his beautiful naked body in bed as he slept. She loved to watch his chest rise and fall, his flaccid penis resting on his balls, twitching from time to time. He had a strong build for such a young man, and long, firm legs that made him quite a great athlete in school. He was beautiful. There were times in which she'd wished she could go in, lay beside him and smell his musky masculine scent. If only she'd had the courage to put his penis in her mouth and give him the sort of awakening he'd never forget.

Why did he always leave the door ajar at night? Did he think she wouldn't peak in and see his naked body? She'd often wondered if he left the door ajar on purpose, so she could see him as she passed by his bedroom at night. Aunt Ida slept like a log, and she was the only other person in the house . . .

It was illogical to think that.

Or was it?

After all, what took place on the night before she was to leave to New York had left her on a state of turmoil that, to this day, she hadn't been able to shake off.

Like every night, Dana had positioned herself in front of the door crack, only this time Michel wasn't asleep . . . or alone. Moans and groans escaped from a blonde girl as she straddled Michel's hips and lowered herself on to his erect cock. Dana had never seen Michel's cock hard before. The view was arresting—long, thick, beautiful. She watched, astonished, as he grasped the woman's hips and controlled her descend upon his shaft, slowly impaling and stretching her. The woman's back arched as she threw her head back in pleasure. Dana had never seen the blonde before—one of Michel's many conquests, she reckoned.

Heat rose inside her like molten lava. Unconsciously, she pinched a puckered nipple with one hand and traced her pubis with the other.

It only took a moment. She would have missed it had she not averted her eyes from his impressive shaft. Michel was gazing at her. Dana looked away and shook her head, not sure if she had hallucinated, but when she looked back, Michel's turquoise eyes shone back at her with unwavering intensity.

Dana froze. What was happening here? Did he want her to watch? This show that Michel had apparently put on on her behalf had left her in a state of paralysis. But she soon realized that she wanted to watch. She wanted to live vicariously through the lucky blonde who got to ride the young man she'd fantasized about every night.

Looking back at Michel, Dana lifted her slip and opened her legs wide apart, exposing her plump pussy adorned with a small triangle of black curls. She ran her fingers up and down her swollen pink lips in slow motion, giving a show of her own. She massaged her aching clit—running her fingers in a circular motion, tightening it so as to add friction, imagining it was Michel's lips pressed against it. A soft moan escaped her lips, and she'd feared that the blonde had heard her, but the woman was too far gone in her own pleasure to notice. Overcome with mounting desire, she knelt down, inserted two fingers deep inside her wetness and proceeded to ride her fingers, imitating the blonde's movements. Her brown eyes never left Michel's blue ones, and tension gripped her from deep inside of her as she moved up and down with uncontainable force.

The blonde continued to ride Michel's cock. He moved his hips to meet her thrusts as he watched Dana pleasure herself. Her breathing became loud and uneven, but they merely echoed the moans and gasps coming from the bedroom. The blonde moved faster on Michel and, with one final thrust, she arched her neck and cried out her orgasm. At the same time, Dana's breathing quickened, her pussy quivered uncontrollably and, adding pressure to her aching clit, her eyes fixed on Michel, she allowed her own release to swift through her. In the midst of her orgasm, she'd heard Michel's loud, strangled yelp.

Exhausted, Dana took one last look at Michel. His gaze hadn't wavered. The blonde kissed his neck, murmuring things to his ear. Whispering loving words to her beloved, Dana mused.

Slowly she walked back to her bedroom. A queasy feeling made way in her stomach. What had just happened? What did it mean? Had Michel wanted Dana to take part in his exploit, creating some warped version of a threesome? Or was he an exhibitionist? She suddenly felt nauseated. Michel was her cousin. Weren't there laws against lusting after a blood relative? She couldn't wait until the next day. She had to sneak out of the house before dawn. And she did. She didn't even say goodbye to Aunt Ida.

'Hungry?'

Camille's voice jolted Dana back to the present time. She had a plate full of cheese sandwiches and a glass of milk. 'I made you these. Hope you like 'em.'

'Um . . . Yes. Thanks. I'm famished.' They sat next to each other on Mick's bed. As Dana wolfed down a sandwich, Camille smiled at her with a glint in her eyes. 'You know, Mick has told me lots about you.'

Dana froze, her mouth full of sandwich. 'He has?' she mumbled. She swallowed hard and tried again. 'He has? How strange . . . I mean, Mick is not exactly the talkative type is he? Especially not about some faraway cousin.'

'Oh, but he talks plenty with me. And he's said some interesting things about you. You're his favorite cousin, y'know.'

The innocence in Camille's tone had more than just a hint of irony. And was it her imagination, or was Camille looking at her up and down, sizing her up? 'You're his favorite cousin,' she repeated nicely, 'and he'll be very happy to see you again. You two having unfinished business and all.' Camille's large breasts brushed against Dana's arm as she got up. 'Eat up,' she said with a wink before she left.

Camille knew something, that much was clear. Had Michel told her about that night? And if he did, what exactly had he said? Dana suddenly felt sick. She placed the plate of sandwiches aside and walked back to Aunt Ida's bedroom with an unsettling feeling of impending doom.