The House Group Leader's Wife

Chapter 16

It was, I suppose, only a matter of time before it happened. Never in a million years would Jennifer have left Vesna alone with Dean, after she'd heard from Marcia how she had driven Connor crazy when they had had a threesome, and how she had lost control when Connor was pounding her with his cock. But when someone (make that two people, in this case) is very determined to make something happen, then a way can always be found. Thus, it had come about that Vesna was babysitting two-year-old Dutton, while Jennifer was in Colorado visiting her father, who was sick, and while Dean was meant to be in Seattle. He had flown there a couple of days after Jennifer left and was scheduled to arrive back in town the day after she came back, but when he learned that Vesna would be staying the night he rearranged his meetings and his flights so that he could keep her company.

Not wanting to surprise her, he had actually rung the doorbell to his own house. When Vesna answered the door, she didn't seem either surprised or upset, which was enough to send Dean upstairs with a spring in his step and a song in his heart to take a shower and change into something more comfortable. Never in his wildest dreams would he have imagined that that was exactly what the babysitter was busy doing too. When he got downstairs, she was nowhere to be seen. Going back upstairs, he checked first Dutton's room, then the guest room she used when she stayed over, but could find no trace of her. It was only when he ventured further down the corridor that he saw that the bathroom door was closed. Putting his ear against the door, he could make out the sound of someone taking a shower. That someone could only be Vesna.

He went downstairs again and mixed himself a cocktail, making enough for Vesna too once she joined him. He took a seat in his armchair in the living room and watched the TV news while he waited for her, reckoning that keeping the atmosphere as normal as possible would be the best way to set the scene for what he hoped would be a night to remember.

Judging from the turn it had just taken, Dean knew he had nothing to worry about. Vesna (sweatshirt and jeans just a half hour ago) had transformed herself into a - what exactly? Dean wondered - princess, maybe, or a film star. She was wearing a strapless printed tight-fitting dress with a straight neckline and black heels (perhaps three inches in height). Dean had never seen her looking so feminine or so darned attractive. The dress looked like an artist's palette, where someone had mixed the colours around a bit: light blue, dark orange and black predominated. It was a damn fine dress, was all that Dean cared. As for the heels, he'd only seen her in dirty sneakers or ugly boots before, so those alone were enough to get him as hard as he had been the evening before in his hotel room, when he had masturbated to images of her twice before going to sleep.

"To think she's gone to all this effort just for me," he reflected.

Vesna, in turn, had never seen Dean looking more handsome in a tailored blue and white checked short-sleeved shirt and a pair of ivory chinos. He hadn't bothered with footwear, which was absolutely fine by her.

"Ah, Vesna," he said, as she sat down on the couch opposite him. "Dutton well?"

"He had a bit of a sniffle, but nothing serious," she replied. "Got him off to sleep eventually."

"Sounds like you need a drink," he said, getting up and going over to the table where her glass stood waiting to be filled.

"Here, try this."

"Thanks," she said. "Mm, very good. Your secret recipe?"

"Absolutely. Passed down by five generations of Regans. Originally developed by a forefather in County Sligo."

"Made from potatoes, is it?" quipped Vesna, drawing a laugh as well as a murmur of admiration from Dean for her cultural knowledge, however much it might owe to stereotypes.

"Beautiful dress you're wearing," Dean added, putting a record on the Nakamichi turntable.

"Thank you," the babysitter replied. "I only got it a week or so ago."

Dean wanted to ask if she had bought it for him, but things were going so well he didn't want to ruin them by coming across as an asshole.

"Suits you very well - the colours and everything."

He was bursting to say something about the shoes, but had to content himself with just staring at them. Vesna caught him doing so and started laughing. Dean thought it was a very nice laugh, even when it was being directed at him.

"Yeah, they're new too," she volunteered. "Not like the stuff I normally wear."

"They're really beautiful, Vesna. But then so are you."

There, Dean had said it.

"You really think so?" the Croat added.

Dean couldn't tell whether she was really unsure of herself or whether she was just fishing for compliments.

"Well, yes, in a word," said Dean.

"I mean I'll never be a beauty like Jennifer," she went on.

Dean had been wondering how long it would be before she mentioned his wife, but it didn't faze him in the slightest.

"Says who?" he said, getting up from his chair and sitting on the couch next to her.

"I don't know. It's obvious. Only a blind man wouldn't be able to see it."

"I'm not blind and I can't see it."

And with that he made a move into her, taking his drink out of her hand and placing it on the little table by the end of the couch. He could smell the scent she was wearing. This was another first on what was turning out to be a night of firsts. He put his hand on her face and turned it towards him. She seemed nervous. Genuinely nervous. He was surprised, and also quite touched. Had she been thinking about this moment from the day she started working for them? Had she heard Marcia talk about him (probably negatively) and begun wondering what it would be like to be with such a dangerous man?

Now that she was looking at him, he dropped his hand from her face to the hand that had been holding her glass, which was now just above her knee. He pressed it gently, and sensed her relax. He couldn't believe his luck. He thought their coupling would be aggressive and quick ("Wham! Bang? Thank you, ma'am!") but it was turning out to be anything but. She clearly wanted him to woo her. By a marvellous piece of serendipity, that was exactly what he wanted to do himself. His initial plan (pull down the neckline of her dress, kiss her tits, remove her dress, and fuck her) had been binned. They had all night, and he was going to use it all, if that was what brought them both the greatest pleasure.

"I have a confession to make," said Vesna, as he sat there beside her holding her hand as if they were on their first date, which in a way they were.

"When I was upstairs with your wife and Marcia, I saw your photo on the nightstand, and after that I couldn't get you out of my mind. When your wife was fucking me with a strap-on, it was you I was thinking about. When I came, it was because you had unloaded yourself inside me. There, I have told you my secret. Do you have any confession you need to make to me?"

"Too many to describe in detail, else we'll be occupied all night," Dean replied. "Let's just say from the moment I first laid my eyes on you, I have wanted nothing else."

"Do you think about me when you are fucking your wife?"

"Hell, yes! But then I guess she's thinking about you too!"

"Maybe it's better if we don't do it. I might be a disappointment to you. That way, you could still masturbate about me, whether you're alone or whether you're with your wife."

"There's only so far masturbation can take a man," said Dean. "And there's only so much pleasure he can obtain from it."

"What about you? Have you masturbated about me? I mean, when you've been in bed on your own. Be honest with me. I know you like girls too."

"I've imagined you ringing my doorbell because you want to confront me about fucking your wife. I don't want you to come in, but you force your way in. You then start to become angry because I am Marcia's lover. I annoy you by saying she doesn't want you and will never consent to have sex with you. You reply that in that case you will have to force her to have sex with you. While you are saying this, you look at me in a hungry - almost frightening - way. We both know what this means: you intend to force yourself upon me."

"I ask you to leave, and you go to the door. But instead of opening it, you lock it and walk straight towards me. I ask you to leave again, and tell you that if you don't I will call the police. You tell me to go ahead and call them. I want to walk to the phone but I find that I am rooted to the spot. You pick me up and carry me into my bedroom. I ask you for a third - and as it turns out - a final time to leave, but you lay me on the bed. Very gently; I was expecting you to throw me on it. I lie there the way I land, with my legs spread apart. I make no attempt to bring them together. Although I am wearing pants - yoga pants - I feel naked, as your eyes are boring straight through me - straight into my crotch. I know you are picturing my pussy and all the things you want to do with it."

"Fuck!" moaned Dean, his erection so total that it was making a tent of his pants. "You sure know how to turn a fellow on."

"And I think I know how to relieve your stress too, if you would like that."

"Fuck yes!" he replied, praying that she would unzip him and pull down his pants.

Vesna had other ideas, though.

"I'm going to fuck you like your wife never fucks you," she said.

"Aw, fuck!" breathed Dean, his penis desperate for release, desperate for relief.

Rather than attend to his most obvious need first, though, Vesna took his head in her hands and kissed Dean - kissed him hard. His arousal skyrocketing once more, he was on the point of yanking her dress down, when he knew that it would be a mistake to act so precipitously. He had to go with the flow (

her

flow). If he did, he would reap great rewards.

So he kissed her back, with passion but with no violence. In her fantasy, she had hinted at violence (it was essentially a rape fantasy), but the final act had been left to the imagination. Dean realised that this was because that final act would be played out today, in his living room, when he would give Vesna what she had been craving for so long. He would force himself on her, as he had done in her fantasies. First, though, he would let her lead - even let her dominate him. "Dominate!" The word itself sent shivers down his spine.

"Fuck! This is going to be good,' he thought.

Her mouth clamped on his (her tongue dancing a frenzied mazurka with his own), Vesna lifted Dean's T-shirt off in one easy motion. She sought out his well-defined muscles, dragging her nails across them, causing red lines to appear.

"Fuck, yeah!" said Dean - as the initial pain turned to ecstasy.

Breaking the kiss, Vesna asked Dean if he liked that. A nod was enough to convince her, so she repeated the dose - this time, lower down, raking his belly with her none too short fingernails. This time, she watched as the welt-like runnel showed up bright red against his bronzed skin.

"Would you like me to kiss it better?" she said, smiling her crooked smile at him, and at the same time causing him to come within an inch of ripping off her dress, shredding her panties and burying his cock deep inside her.

"Fuck, yeah," he managed to get out, if with some difficulty, as he was suddenly short of breath.

"Did I hurt you?" she asked him (her face close to his) before she attended to the scratch on his chest.

"No," Dean lied - his mind not on the attention he was about to receive, but rather on his rampant cock, which was the only part of his body that was truly hurting.

Of course, Vesna knew this, but the thrill she was getting from ignoring his plight was too good to ignore. He would get what he wanted - eventually. But only after she had received everything she had dreamed about from this encounter.

She ran her tongue along his flesh wound, tasting the blood and savouring it, much as a vampire would. Vesna liked that analogy, laughing at the idea even as she dotted the red line with kisses on her way back to where she had started from. Now, it was time for the wound on his abdomen. How much fun she could have with this one, she thought, seeing how close it was to his phallus, which she had been keeping a surreptitious eye on for some time. As she moved down to begin her soothing of the lower wound, she let her eyes drop to his crotch, and was delighted to see that the tent in his pants had grown even bigger. Even as she regarded it, it twitched a couple of times, as if begging her to see to its needs.

Placing her hands on Dean's hips, where pants met skin, Vesna drove her tongue none too gently across the abrasion she had caused. As much as Dean tried to hold in the pain he was feeling, he was powerless to prevent a groan escaping his lips. It was a groan that was music to Vesna's ears, as she imagined the groans (much longer and much louder) that he would soon be emitting. When she thought of the moans that she would be releasing not long after that, the only way to deal with the sensations her mind was sharing with her body was by driving her tongue back over that thin red line. This time there were to be no gentle kisses.

"Has your wife driven you crazy like this?" Vesna asked Dean, who was now wound as tight as a drum.

"No!" he cried, failing in his attempt to keep his emotions under control.

After all, the control was all the Croat's now.

"I'm not going to go any further," she declaimed imperiously, revelling in the thrall under which this man - this mere man - was now held.

Dean's impulse was to get up, fling the floozy on the couch and ravage her. But something inside him told him that would be a mistake. He wanted, no, needed, to let her continue, even if she proved true to her word, even if continuing was the furthest thing from her mind.

"I will unbutton your pants, and free your cock," she went on. "But then I will stop. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said simply, softly, playing the submissive role that was expected of him.

But it was no longer a role. He was under her dominion. Whether she left him there, with his penis distended and throbbing, but with no hope of release, and walked out of the house right now, was entirely a matter for her.

Still sitting beside him, she unbuttoned his pants, pulled down the zipper, and pulled his chinos down to his knees. Without any delay she manoeuvred his tight briefs over his bulging cock and let them join his pants. The sight of that rampant column (so often the object of her dreams) - precum oozing from its bulbous head - weakened her resolve considerably. It was all she could do not to fall on it and fellate it until he released the rest of his load inside her mouth.

She had intended to withdraw (either to resume her place beside him or to a chair across the room), but she found that she had bitten off more than she could chew. She crouched there (her face inches from his jerking baton), unable to move. The tables were beginning to turn, and both of them could sense it.

Reaching out, she ran her nails down his shaft, following the line of a bulging vein. His cock responded by jouncing uncontrollably - precum all the while continuing to flow from his orifice. How Vesna wanted to taste it, to lick it all up, to take the naked desire that was jerking about in front of her in her mouth. And yet she held out. She held out because she realised he was about to come. Using one hand to pull the penis towards her, she placed the other gently on his scrotum. It was as if she had activated a tripwire.

Dean began to shudder - his eyes shut tight. His penis started to pulse violently - so violently that Vesna felt she had no option but to enclose it with her mouth. Her free hand grabbed the base of his shaft just as the first wave of jism was catapulted from his tube into her waiting receptacle. Bypassing her mouth, it shot down her throat in one easy movement, as Dean cried out in something much more representing release from frustration rather than triumph or exaltation.

"Fuck!" he shouted, as the orgasm petered out. "Fuck!"

Knowing her work was only just beginning, Vesna kept hold of the shaft with her lips and teeth, and gambled on the fact that she could make it hard once more. Almost immediately she felt the flaccid lump starting to swell, so she helped it along with a few well-chosen words. She had noticed that the mention of Jennifer never failed to do the trick, so she ploughed once more down that well-worn furrow.

"Jennifer can't do the kind of things to you that I do, can she?"

"Fuck, no!" said Dean, like a puppet on the end of a string.

"You want more, don't you?"

"Fuck, yes!"

"I don't disappoint you, do I?"

"Oh, fuck, Vesna, you're the best lay I've ever had!"

"You haven't even lain me yet!"

"I don't have to. I know what you do to me. It's enough."

"Then, be a gentleman and help me out of my dress. Then take me upstairs and show me what you can do."

"I won't be much of a gentleman up there."

"I was hoping you wouldn't be."

Chapter 17

Vesna released Dean's cock, which had regained pretty much its full length. They both stood, and Dean found the zipper at the back of Vesna's tight dress and lazily ran it down her back. The garment fell to the floor to reveal the lacy black panties that Vesna had worn in place of her normal boyish briefs.

"Take my shoes off," she said to him.

He knelt down and took them off without haste, enjoying the sight of her toenails, which, unlike her fingernails, she had painted in a multitude of colours with a touch of glitter.

"I'll suck on these later," he said to himself, relishing the chance to do something that was denied him by Jennifer, who said she didn't care for it much.

Once they got in the bedroom, Dean got Vesna to lie on the bed, still wearing her skimpy panties. Vesna hoped the journey upstairs had cooled his ardour somewhat, and that he would take care of her needs before possessing her, and so it proved. Leaning across her, rather than straddling her, he kissed her long and sensuously, stroking her hair as he did so. It was, Vesna knew, the calm before the storm, but it was none the less welcome for being temporary respite.

He moved down to what she considered her weak spot - her boyish breasts - and positively raved over them.

"My god, they're incredible," said the man who woke up next to Jennifer every morning.

He billed and cooed over them as he paid them the kind of homage fir for a queen. And still he hadn't touched her nipples. As may be imagined, these were jutting out in such a way that you would have thought they were impossible to miss, and of course Dean hadn't missed them. It was just that he knew instinctively how much Vesna needed encouragement in that realm.

Eventually, the inevitable happened and Dean's tongue flicked the side of the outsized tower. By this point Vesna was primed like a missile, requiring only the slightest touch to set her off.

"Fuck!" she growled - deeply, like a man. "Don't fuck about any more. Give me the pleasure I want."

Dean took her tit in his hand and worked it with surprising gentleness while his tongue showed no such compunction with her distended bud. But it was when he clenched it between her teeth that she really started to respond. Instinctively, Dean slipped his hand under her panties and dropped a finger inside her soaking pussy. Taking it out almost at once he offered it to Vesna so she could taste herself.

"You like?" he asked her, receiving a vigorous nod in reply.

Dipping his finger back in her well, he probed her for several seconds, much to her obvious pleasure, before withdrawing his finger and offering it to her once again.