Sex Nanny

Chapter 3 – Daddy's Visit

When I got home from work today there was a piece of paper folded and taped to my door. It read: "Mrs. Spencer, my name is Jim Latkey. My son, Bruno, works for you. I came by today to chat with you, but you weren't in. Please give me a call at your convenience."

He left his cell phone number, and a bold, legible signature. My heart started beating faster as I re-read the note. What could he possibly want to chat about? He couldn't know about me and his son... could he? Surely Bruno wouldn't have told his father!

Now, I'm sitting on my bed. I found half a joint in the bedside table, and it's calming me down a little bit, but I'm still jumpy. I imagine a terrible scene: Mr. Latkey on my doorstep, glaring at me. What will I say to him when we speak?

I don't even know if Bruno was a virgin before that night! I'm comforted by the fact that I find it highly doubtful. He knows just how to make me cream – I didn't even have to give him instructions. I bet he's mounted a few cheerleaders during his high school football career. At least he's 18! At least I'm not a criminal! I giggle at this... I mean, the thought.

I'm 39, with short, silky brown hair, large bee-stung lips, size C tits with high-set light pink nipples. I run five miles every other morning, and my husband has told me more than once that he married my ass before he married me.

I had my belly button pierced during a champagne-washed evening in Las Vegas. It was my best friend's bachelorette party – also the first time we fooled around. She really liked it, and she helped me keep it clean for those first few days. Today, I'm wearing the aquamarine gem she bought me. It hangs on a short chain, dangling in the small cup of my navel. It really compliments my firm skin and buttery tan.

But what about Bruno's father? Bruno has been working for me as a live-in nanny for the past few months. His family lives about an hour away, so Jim must be in the area today. Maybe I'll get lucky and he will already be back home.

I have to call him, I guess. I really don't want to. Bruno's out with his buddies until late, and I don't want to call him to ask what his dad wants to talk to me about! Shit! How did I get myself into this? Once again, my appetite for cock is getting me into big trouble. Why do I have to be so hooked on sex?

I head downstairs and pour myself a glass of Pinot Grigio. I'm still wearing my work clothes. I work at a law firm, so I have to look great every day. Today, my hair is pulled back into a French twist held in place with two chopsticks. Whisps have come down around my face during the day, and it's brutally hot outside. My cheeks are flushed from the pot, the wine and the stress.

Suddenly, my suit jacket feels like it's contracting around my chest. I have to get out of these clothes! I begin tearing at my buttons on my gray top. It's low-cut, and there's a practically invisible eyehook that keeps my breasts from springing out onto my desk, and right now I just need it OFF!!

I'm tearing at the tiny hook, not caring that I'm going to break it, and I don't notice that I've wandered into the entryway. There are two decorative floor-to-ceiling windows framing the door, and the sunlight is streaming in, glinting off the cream-colored tiles on the floor.

Just as the hook gives way and I throw the jacket to the ground, I look up at the door. There is a middle-aged, very attractive black man standing on my porch. He's looking at me with a cross of horror, embarrassment and surprise. His eyebrows appear to have joined his hairline. The eye contact must only have lasted for a moment, but it seemed like eternity before he looked away and stepped behind the door.

I scramble for my shirt and re-adjust it over my white strapless bodice, but of course the hook is broken, and I have to hold the top of the jacket together in front of my cleavage. After what I suppose he considers a polite interval, he knocks on the door. This is fantastic, just the way he wanted to meet his baby boy's employer, I'm sure. I steel myself.

I open the door little more than a crack, and peer out at him. He clears his throat and looks at me, and then the ground.

"Ahem, ah... Mrs. Spencer?" he asks, and I notice through my mortification that he really IS damn good looking. Like an older, seasoned version of his godlike son.

"Yes, that's me. Won't you come in and make yourself comfortable at the kitchen table?" I smile at him, and feel my face start to heat up. All I can think about is getting upstairs and changing into something that isn't going to fall apart while we talk.

"I'm, ah, just going to run upstairs and change out of these work clothes," I say, backing away from him toward the staircase. "I'm terribly sorry you caught me at such a revealing moment." I try to make light of it, but we're strangers, and it's hard to shake off the feeling of awkwardness.

"That sounds great. I'm so sorry to bother you, coming by twice in one day like this, but I think I left my cell phone on the bench on your porch and I was coming..." He is nervous, and talking very quickly. I smile at him in what I hope is a comforting, non-threatening way.

"No worries. I'm the one tearing off my clothes in front of open windows. Now if you'll excuse me for just a sec?" As I turn to go, I glance over at him. He's sitting with his hands on the table in front of him, smiling lopsidedly. What a looker!

I run upstairs and slip out of my jacket and skirt. I'm wearing a white corset that pushes my breasts up and out, held closed with a silky ribbon that laces down the back. My thigh-high sheer white pantyhose are attached to the bodice with the same silk ribbons, and underneath I have on a skimpy white thong.

What can I say? I like to feel sexy at work. Besides, giving my boss, Mr. Lender, a little peek of white lace and a whiff of perfume once in a while can't hurt. I think of it as additional job security.

I don't want to waste time untying my corset and getting TOO comfortable. I just want to get this over with, let him say whatever he wants to say, and relax for the rest of the night. Besides, I don't want to keep him waiting all afternoon. He'd think I was scared of him! After the look on his face when he saw me in the hallway, I think he's a little scared of me. I chuckle.

I slip on a pair of tight, stonewashed blue jeans and a navy and white pinstriped button-down shirt, which I tie at my waist. There. Sexy underwear successfully covered up, and I still look like a babe. Out of habit, I turn and admire my butt in the mirror.

"Mmm-hmm, thank you, Mama," I murmur. I give my ass a little squeeze and a slap, and head downstairs to confront James Latkey.

He's not in the kitchen when I get there. I open the fridge and look at the pitcher of sweet tea there. If he wants a non-alcoholic beverage, I have it covered. But I'm going to offer him wine first. I already have a glass poured, after all.

I hear him entering from the front hall again. He's holding up his cell phone.

"Found it. Haha. I wouldn't want you to think I was stalking you or something." He shut up quickly, obviously fearing this was a step in the wrong direction. I laugh charitably.

"I think you should be less concerned about looking like a stalker and more concerned about your son's boss stripping in the entryway." Why did I say that? Why did I say "stripping?"

He pauses, regarding me evenly. Then he begins to laugh. Suddenly I know that he KNOWS! Fuck you, Bruno, I think. This is turning into a disaster.

"Listen, listen, I'm sorry." He has his hand on his stomach. He's trying to calm down and have an adult conversation. Finally, his laughter fades into another awkward silence.

"Why don't you tell me what you came here to talk to me about?" I say, fuming a little and indicating the chairs at the dining table. I decide against offering a drink, and sit across from him, trying to look serious and mature, like the mother of a 10-year-old boy should.

"I don't really know how to say this. But I... I did something I regret." HE did something? This ought to be good.

"I occasionally, um, search Bruno's room. It's a parenting thing," he says, but he sounds guilty about it. "Maybe you'll understand when your son gets a little older. I don't care about porno magazines or other age-appropriate stuff like that, but I don't want him on drugs... Besides, my wife makes me."

He finishes this part and looks at me for sympathy. The poor guy! His wife must be a certifiable bitch. I would NEVER search Johnny's room!

"Oh," I say. "Well..." I'm not sure how to continue, so I just nod at him and wait for him to get to the point.

"The thing is, last time I was in there, I found a little book I'd never seen before, and... God I feel awful about this!! I'm a terrible parent! But I opened it up and just happened to see that he had been writing about..." He swallows, and looks at the ceiling. "About some experiences with you."

I am stunned. Bruno writing?! That's a shocker. I'm flattered. I wonder how much detail there is... But before my mind can wander, I look back at Jim. I have to say something!

"Oh Mr. Latkey, Jim, it's okay. I mean, you're looking at me like what you did was worse! You must think I'm awful – a, a child molester!" I spit the words out and again silently reassure myself that the boy in question IS of age.

"Look look look. I'm not upset with you, at least not very. I mean, I was shocked of course, but shit! I'm jealous! I wish I'd had a sexy older woman, no offense! to teach me the ropes back in those days. But..." he held out his hand, palm up, toward me.

"But, I think you might want to be very careful. Young men, just like young women, fall in love so easily. I don't want to see my boy get hurt."

I sit across the table from him, pondering what to say next. He's right, of course. I've been avoiding thinking about it. I just figured if things got too serious, I'd stop. I am unconsciously staring into his eyes.

His skin is as beautiful as his son's, and he has an intoxicating scent. He smells like aftershave, pipe tobacco, and a hint of sweat from the hot day. I breathe deeply, not consciously realizing that I'm craving more of that smell. It's so warm, so strong and male.

I thought that Bruno was the hottest black man I'd ever seen, but that's only because I hadn't met the original. Jim Latkey could seduce the cotton panties off a nun. He looks kind of like Denzel Washington, but has a unique handsomeness all his own. I want to study his face. I want to touch his neck.

The look in his eyes has started to change as he checks me out. He likes what he sees, my hair still pulled back and away from my eyes. My tortoise-shell glasses that make me look so professional. The casual but sexy outfit I threw together. My stocking-clad feet on the linoleum.

When his eyes travel back to my face, I'm smiling lasciviously, un-self-consciously.

"Hmm-hmm, Mr. Latkey." I say, in a deep, husky voice, "Just what are you thinking over there?"

I'm taking a risk, but I'm instantly excited. My pulse quickens and my blood starts pumping faster through my veins. I have a terrible fear of rejection, that he's going to yell at me, or storm out of my house, tell his wife... Anything! But I've said it, and now it's his play.

He doesn't speak for a moment. His hand fumbles with his necktie; he actually slips a finger under his collar. Oooh yes. I've got him.

"Forgive me, I feel like a beast." He says, and his face turns slightly red beneath his cocoa-butter color.

"Should I play Beauty, then?" I say coyly. It's lame, but at least it's clear. I like the way he's looking at me, and I've never backed away from a beast. I wonder if his cock looks like Bruno's.

Is he circumcised? Because his son isn't... Dirty thoughts start to race through my mind. An image of him mounting me. His long, black cock sliding slowly into me. The look of his deep, brown haunches snug between my cream-colored thighs, pumping slowly back and forth...

He must me thinking along the same lines, because he doesn't say anything, but stands up and walks around the table. I stand to meet him. He has an impressive bulge in the front of his trousers, and when he's standing close enough, I reach out and take it in my hand. It's so warm and firm. I draw him toward me, rubbing little circles against his half-hard member.

He puts his hands on my shoulders, stopping my motion.

"We shouldn't," he growls. "You're my son's girlfriend."

"Ha! Girlfriend? I'm 40 years old, Jim. I'm his fuck-buddy," I say, leaning past his outstretched arms. My lips are close enough to kiss him, and they brush against his as I say, "Besides, I want to get a taste of a Latkey man. I've had the boy, and I've gotta know, does it run in the family?"

He moans and kisses me roughly. Our tongues plunge together, sending sparks down my spine. Is this really happening?

Full body contact now. Dry humping. He's rubbing that sexy mound of his against me, teasing me with the promise of size and girth. I wish I was videotaping us – I'd send a copy to my husband in Iraq. He'd probably desert on the spot.

Jim is unbuttoning my shirt now, and thoughts of my soldier slip away. Bruno's dad looks excited to see I'm still wearing the underwear he saw through the window earlier.

He pulls back to take in my bodice and heaving breasts. He reaches for my face and cups it gently in his dark, smooth hands. He runs his fingertips down my neck, traces the planes of my shoulders, tickles the tops of my breasts with a touch soft as cotton candy.

Goosebumps pop up in a great ripple across my chest and arms. My body is a riot of sensation. I thrust forward, pressing my breasts into his palms.

His breath catches, and he closes his eyes, holding them firmly but gently – a man who has been married a long time, who hasn't touched anyone but his wife in years. I reach for the button on my jeans, and he opens his eyes to see me stepping out of my pants.

I feel like a vision. My hair falling around my shoulders, my white teddy and thigh-highs. I look at him haughtily, a goddess he must obey. There is a small wet spot on the front of my panties. He drops to his knees so that he's face to face with it.

He looks up at me – for permission? – and I nod. The tip of his nose touches me first, and he breathes me in deeply. His hands are on the sides of my thighs, feeling my long, taught muscles. He is barely touching me, teasing me with his nose.

I'm so sensitive right now. I can feel his breath on me, matching the heat between my lips. The way he's touching me is nearly unbearable. I grab the back of his head and push his face into me.

He presses closer, and I feel his tongue extend and slip between my thighs, adding to the wetness on my thong. He laps at me, his tongue sliding and flicking, tracing little squiggles all over my tiny, perfectly waxed mound.

"Aaaaaaaaooooh yeah," I sigh, and pull his head away from me again.

"Take off your clothes and lay down on the table," I tell him. He looks at me with unmasked desire and quickly slips out of his pants. His erection is dark beneath his white underwear, and it's long, and thick.

"Leave those on," I tell him.

I begin rubbing his throbbing erection, giving him just enough friction that his desire begins to mount to dangerous heights. He reaches for me and pulls my face to him, kissing me desperately. I can smell my pussy on his mouth.

I reach back and rub my index finger up and down the front of my slit. My panties are soaked now, liquid seeping out from between my lips. The string of the thong is snugly wedged inside my pussy lips, and I squeeze my legs together, trying to feel its tiny presence. I'm torturing myself, but I love it.

I pull away from him, still touching myself.

"Please, I really want to fuck you," he says, pleading.

I climb up on the table next to him. I stay on my hands and knees, my breasts visible almost to the nipple beneath my chin. I again take his cock in my hand, sliding one finger into the small opening in the front of his underwear. I can feel ridges on his member, and I'm imagining what it's going to feel like when he's pumping in and out of me.

"Let's get these off," I say, and slide the garment down his legs. He kicks it onto the floor. Now I can see him in his full glory. His cock is long, pointing proudly into the air. Unlike his son, he is circumcised, and the light pink head provides a deliciously tempting contrast to the length of his brown penis.

His hair is trimmed short, and his testicles are large and grayish, perfect globes resting side by side on his thighs. They look full and heavy, waiting to empty a stream of hot cum deep into my pussy.

I reach for him and begin stroking him softly. I straddle his legs, my ass in the air and my face poised over his cock.

He is shaking slightly. With guilt? With the intensity of his desire? I don't know, but it makes me feel powerful, like an animal.

In one quick movement, I take that pink head into my mouth and slide down as far as I can. His penis hits the back of my throat and he moans so loud it's nearly a scream.

"Oh god! Be careful!" He says, holding my head still with one hand. "Slowly. I'm so close."

I pull away and smile at him impishly. "What do you mean? I barely touched you!"

I lean back down to take him in my mouth again, but slowly this time. I begin sucking him softly, taking his shaft in my right hand to extend the sensation all the way to his balls. He's so large I can't take him all the way in, not even into my throat.

Gliding up and down on his rippling shaft is making me even hotter. I let go of his cock and shove my hand between my legs. He takes over stroking himself with his hand, guiding my mouth up and down.

I rub my clit violently, immediately bringing off a sharp, short orgasm like a gunshot. His hand relaxes slightly, and I lean back, sitting on his thighs, my juices dripping onto him. He stares at my pussy. My thong has been yanked aside, and he can see the top where my lips meet. I roll over onto my back.

"Your turn." I say, closing my eyes.

"Can you roll onto your side so I can untie you?" He asks gently, obviously having helped his wife out of similar outfits.

I roll over and feel his dark hands on the white satin ribbon, then the bodice loosens as he unlaces it, and I take a deep breath. I put my arms over my head and he slides it off. I roll over onto my back again, now wearing only the garter belt, panty hose and thong.

The jewelry glistens in my navel. He places both hands on my waist and feels me up and down, my rippling muscles, my soft curves.

"Oh yeah, your breasts are amazing," he says, leaning in to take a nipple in his mouth. He squeezes the other between two fingers.

My nipples harden, turning a deeper pink in my arousal. I take the hand on my nipple and put it between my legs. He moans against my breasts.

His touch is gentle, expert. Not the clumsy, horny touch of his son. His hand turns sideways and slips between my lips. His fingers are just rough enough for me to really feel it, and it's like a velvet cat's tongue. My body is on fire, my pussy throbbing and grinding against his hand. I try to force his finger into me, but he pulls back.

He leans down to taste me. His head looks so foreign between my legs. His dark, curly hair so different from Jay's. He licks me clean of my messy clear liquid, seeming to savor the feeling of taking me into his mouth.

My hips begin rocking up and down against his face. His tongue is long and slender, not big enough to give me the pleasure I need. I can't even feel it when he puts it in my hole. That's not the case with that cock, though. His tongue is making me want it even more.

"Stick it in me," I say, almost growling. He looks up at me. No more teasing. Now we're gonna fuck.