An Apron

I woke up and bounced straight out of bed. I felt terrific. A good night’s sleep and awakening to a beautiful day. What more could I want?

Well, come to think of it, a little bit of quiet? For some reason I was hearing the sounds of someone moving around in another room and I just knew that this couldn’t be so, mainly because I live alone. As in just me and no other person in the apartment, so from whence came the noise?

I chose to investigate. I didn’t bother to get dressed just heading out on my investigation tastefully clad in striped pyjama pants. No top as it had been a warm night. Hell, it had been a toss-up as to whether I even wore the pants. I guess my mother’s conditioning still held.

I ambled leisurely along, heading towards the kitchen, which seemed to the source of the noises. Reaching the kitchen I leaned against the doorway and quietly observed.

There was a strange girl in the kitchen, apparently putting together some sort of meal. I’d like to emphasise the word strange for a couple of reasons. One, she was strange because I didn’t know her. Two, her behaviour was strange in that she was in my kitchen, cooking. Three, her clothing was unusual. What there was of it. Have you ever seen an anime where the girl is trying to impress the boy by cooking for him dressed in an apron and only an apron? You’ve guessed it. That’s what she was wearing.

I dutifully admired her trim figure, my eyes lingering on her pert little tush, pale and nicely rounded. Other interesting things could be glimpsed as she moved about.

What, I wondered, was the correct thing to do when you find a young lovely in your kitchen, clad in an apron? She was obviously out to impress. Not knowing the correct thing I decided to follow my instincts and see what happened.

I stepped up behind her, she still being oblivious to my presence, and ran my hand over that enticing little bottom. This meant, of course, that she was no longer oblivious to my being there. She giggled and slapped behind her, probably intending to dislodge my hand that was busy exploring.

“Stop that,” she said, still giggling, turning her head to look at me.

My, what a change came over her pretty face when she got a clear look at me. The laughing smile she had sort of dribbled away, and I imagined that I could hear it falling on the floor with a splat. Her jaw also fell, although that didn’t land on the floor. She went red, then white, then red again, and for a moment I wondered if she was going to faint.

She rallied with impressive speed, her mouth snapping closed, but only for a moment.

“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, “and what are you doing in Bevan’s apartment?”

“I’m Brandon,” I replied. “Who is Bevan and who are you? Oh yeah, it’s also my apartment.”

She scowled at me, taking a moment to digest what I’d said. I took that moment to look her over. Blonde, very pretty, about nineteen. A very tasty dish, in my opinion, and right then my opinion was the one that mattered.

“I’m Alicia and you’re lying,” she decided. “I used Bevan’s key to get in. This must be his apartment. And get your hands off my bottom.”

I ignored that last bit. Her bottom felt quite delicious so I just kept on fondling it.

“That raises a few questions. I might point out though that the locks in these apartments are so shoddy and sub-standard that a two-year old with a rusty penknife could unlock them. Not that you should give a two-year old a rusty penknife – or any sort of penknife now that I think of it. However, questions. How do you know it’s Bevan’s key? Where did you get it? Does it have the apartment number on it?”

“Marie gave me the key. She told me it was Bevan’s. And yes, it does have the number on the tag that goes with it.”

“Marie?”

“Bevan’s sister. She should know if it’s his key or not. She holds it so she can get in in an emergency.”

“Not required. The rusty penknife, remember. However I’ll grant that it is indeed Bevan’s key and it’s just a coincidence that it opens another apartment with the same number. Have you ever been to Bevan’s place before?”

“No. Your hand,” she prompted.

“In that case I’d hazard a guess and say you entered the wrong block of flats. They all look very much the same. Just bad luck, I guess. And I’ve moved my hand.”

Bad luck nothing. Careless planning in my opinion. If you’re going to surprise your boyfriend at least make sure you know where he lives.

“I know you’ve moved your hand. It’s where you’ve moved it to that’s the problem.” This was said through gritted teeth. You just can’t please some people.

“What’s wrong with that? It’s soft and warm. A bit damp just here, though.” I thoughtfully poked the damp area, ignoring the little cry of protest.

The nice thing about pyjama pants is the fly doesn’t do up. I didn’t have to make any adjustment to my clothing because the very act of becoming tumescent had caused my cock to poke out and it was now standing tall. That was probably a little unfortunate for Alicia as it was right there when she reached around to push my hand away. Her hand closed around me and then jerked away with a small scream (hers, not mine) when she realised what she’d grabbed.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.

“Just what did you expect to happen when you went into a man’s apartment, stripped off, and wrapped a skimpy apron around your charms?” I asked.

“That’s Bevan’s privilege, not yours,” she snarled and I laughed.

“Was Bevan’s,” I said, adjusting the position of some essential equipment. “It seems it’s now mine.”

I pressed against her and found myself slipping into place with no problems. She was wet and ready and I took full advantage. I couldn’t really take credit for the full state of her arousal. I suspect she’d been getting herself worked up while waiting, anticipating what was coming. All that I’d done was to encourage her arousal to be ready.

“No,” she wailed. “You stop that. I’ll scream.”

“Um, Alicia, if anyone heard you, which they might, and came to investigate, which is unlikely, what do you think when they find me, the owner of the apartment, and you, a visitor, dressed only in an apron? Are you going to tell them that I stripped you and put you in the apron and you didn’t realise what I intended until just now?”

“But this is rape.”

My hands slipped under her apron, seeking her breasts.

“Does it seem like I care?” I asked, starting to move, sliding gently back and forth, nice easy strokes, just teasing her, slowly stirring her up.

“You’re an animal,” she complained. “A bully and a pervert.”

“True, but a healthy one,” I pointed out.

I didn’t say anything after that, just continuing with that same easy swaying motion, knowing that it was getting to her no matter what she might say. And she had a lot to say. My character was dissected back to the fifth generation. I had no idea that I was descended from such a scurvy bunch of scoundrels.

She eventually started swaying in unison with me. When I say eventually I have to admit that it didn’t actually take her long to start reacting. Her verbal abuse just seemed to carry on even though she was now with me.

I released a breast and reached for the tie at the nape of her neck, letting the front of the apron drop away. Some more fondling of her breasts, still gently rocking. After a while I pulled the tie at her waist and the apron dropped away, leaving her naked with my hands running over her.

We reached a point where I really wanted to take her with a lot more vigour, so I pulled out. She turned to look at me, a stunned expression on her face.

“Turn around,” I told her and she did so.

I moved back into position, paused for a moment while she looked down, watching me. Then I thrust in fiercely, driving fully into her, hard and fast. She gave a small scream, pushing hard against me.

Now my hands were hard against her breasts, rubbing them roughly, while thrusting in with a lot more energy. Alicia was gasping and working hard to match me, her bottom pressed firmly against the table and her legs coming up to wrap around me.

She was making eager little sounds now, giving every indication that she was yay close to a climax. That was fine by me as I was just as close. A little extra effort on my part and she went up in flames, with me following along.

We were both breathing a little hard when we separated. She was trying to give me the evil eye but I could see her heart wasn’t in it. I mean, she’d so readily gone along with stage two that she wasn’t really in a position to complain.

I steered her into the bathroom and the shower, joining her there. I didn’t stay there long, just having a quick wash and hopping out so she could take her time. Typically, it took her another half hour before she came out, towel wrapped around her.

“Um, my clothes?” she asked, looking around.

I silently handed her the apron.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” she demanded.

“Um, wear it while you finish making breakfast?” I suggested.

“You seriously expect me to put it on and finish making breakfast?”

I smiled and nodded.

Somewhat to my surprise she snatched it off me, put it on, and turned to the table and resumed her cooking efforts, muttering under her breath. I had no objections. I figured that by the time we’d finished I’d have recharged my batteries and she’d still be wearing an apron.