Author's note: I'm new to Literotica and just finding my feet. I'm doing that by reworking common themes and tropes in my own way. If you like it, please review and vote as it lets me know if you want a sequel. If you don't like it, you don't have to downvote or say anything negative, we're all just trying our best.
The Au Pair - Pt. 01
The house was quiet in that way it only ever was mid-morning. Sophie was at school, Elise at work, and the stillness had settled in. Through the half-open blinds of the study a pale light spilled in, catching the edge of a paperweight, the reflection of glass where the photo frame stood - Elise and Sophie smiling on a beach two summers ago, hair whipped sideways by the wind.
The cursor blinked on my laptop screen. An unanswered email open, dozens more waiting. I wasn't reading them.
Somewhere outside a lawnmower started up, the background noise of middle-class suburbia. The clock ticked and the chair creaked beneath me. I'd been sitting too long.
Then I heard her.
Footsteps light against the hardwood. No urgency. A slow, even approach - and then the door opened without a knock. She stepped inside as if the room was hers.
Madison.
Barefoot, in that worn oversized white T-shirt she often wore around the house, the one that slipped too far down one shoulder, the sleeves rolled loosely at her upper arms. The hem grazed the very top of her thighs. Her skin was glowing faintly, her legs bare, long, calves marked faintly with the imprints of bedsheets. Her hair was pulled into a lazy knot, strands loose at her temples, the kind of effortless disarray only the young wear so naturally. No makeup, no expression but that soft, resting calm she always carried with her.
She didn't say good morning.
She stood in the doorway for a moment, fingers toying with the hem of her shirt, then tilted her head slightly, "How'd you sleep, Mr. Jones?" she asked, voice low and easy, no lift at the end, just a quiet delivery like the answer wasn't that important.
I blinked.
"Fine," I said, or thought I did. My voice sounded strange to me - dry and strangled.
She nodded once. Then walked across the room.
She moved neither slow or fast, just steady. Her bare feet brushed the rug without a sound. She didn't ask another question. Didn't look around. Just stepped to the side of the desk, hands resting lightly on the edge.
And then, without ceremony, she lowered herself.
One smooth motion. Knees folding, her palms sliding down my thighs as she sank to the floor in front of me.
The chair creaked again beneath me, but I didn't move. Didn't speak.
She looked up once, her hazel eyes warm and clear - and then reached for the waistband of my joggers. For the very briefest moment what a fucking cliché I must be. The middle-aged man and the au pair. Daughter at school, wife at work, I've already got the Porsche and now it's the 20-year-old help.
I should stop this!
I did nothing. I just watched her and let it happen.
Her fingers curled beneath the elastic and without pause, she pulled them down.
She moved onto my boxers next. Again, her hands moved with quiet certainty, fingers curling around the waistband, tugging the fabric down past my hips, past my thighs, until my cock sprang free - hard already, twitching slightly in the air between us.
She looked at it. Not with shock, just a steady, deliberate gaze as if confirming something she already knew.
This was my last chance to say something - to stop this. To be the good father, the good husband, but looking down at her that idea went out of my head as quickly as it arrived.
Then she leaned in.
Her lips brushed the base first - just a kiss, soft and slow, right above my balls - then a second, higher up along the shaft. The heat of her mouth lingered where her lips had been, and the barest touch of her breath followed. I let out a sound I barely recognised.
