Nadine waited for her husband to clear the house before rising unable to face him or anyone else. Fortunately he slept in the spare room too cautious to wake her and slunk out early this morning for a round of golf.
She was lingering over a cup of coffee wondering if it would be wiser to give him a hard time over being left with the neighbours daughter or keep silent, as she would rather forget the whole sordid episode, but he would expect her to say something. Again she thought silence might just work or was it wishful thinking for she didn't trust herself to be able to carry on a convincing argument when she felt so guilty.
There was a knock at the back door. "Come in its open." She shouted. "Damn!" She thought he's forgotten something. She felt safer with her back to the door so he wouldn't see the guilty expression still writ large upon her face and she still needed more time alone to get her thoughts back together after last night's ordeal.
"Hello Mrs Brandon. How are you this morning?"
"Shit!" She thought. The coffee cup rattled the table as it almost fell from her grip. The unmistakable voice of the baby sitters boyfriend shook what little stability had been pulled together.
"I'm not so good. Can you come back later?" She said, not daring to turn to face him, she just sat staring down into the black coffee.
"I've got this for you." He said.
Not caring what it was she murmured. "Just put it on the table. I'll look at it later." He pushed the phone along the table, in her face, forcing her to look at the tiny screen. Her eyes focused to see a picture of a naked body, her body on the sofa taken last night. It began to move.
"I hadn't realised the movie camera was on. Well, not at first. I edited it on my computer last night. I took out all the useless shots of the carpet and sofa, even the ceiling." He said quietly. "This bit is when it was kicked out of my hand. It landed on the sofa so it wasn't broken after all." He said calmly.
On the small screen it could just be made out, a close up of a hand slapping a bottom. If she hadn't been there perhaps it would be unrecognisable for what it was. Stunned, she sat attempting to digest this new twist of a knife in her stomach.
"Open your eyes Mrs Brandon." He said politely.
She looked up to see the young nineteen year old standing by the kitchen television with a wire running to his mobile phone. She didn't understand what was going on. There she was on the big screen. Trying to deny what was going on her thoughts drifted off. 'Why had they such a large screen in the kitchen.' She wondered, trying not to look at it. 'They never used it. Breakfast was always a hurried affair and in the evening they dined in the lounge.' Then she remembered it was a fixture, it came with the house. Unable to move her head, her eyes wide, the brain began catching up with events.
Mrs Brandon heard clearly a voice, her voice, out of view calling the babysitter a bitch. The scene showed two women on the floor squabbling in a writhing heap. The large screen showed her face clearly, other things too clearly. Now the view was straight between her legs, her bottom shaking with each slap.
"That's when it fell on the sofa." He said.
The scene changed again. A very nervous looking young woman was pulling at a little white dress standing mumbling, apologising. Another clear shot of her face looking contrite, where she was obviously feeling very sorry for herself.
Over his knees again only a different angle this time. Watching her bottom being massaged brought back the sensuous feelings, which she desperately tried to ignore. Her head looked round into view, revealing a look of bliss as she arched her back. The face dropped out of view to reveal a close up of her crotch with fingers delving intimately. She gasped on seeing her hips rise up clearly striving to regain contact with those nimble fingers. Watching in shocked fascination, not remembering anything of these final moments of orgasm, she marvelled at its intensity. She sat in stunned silence looking at the blank screen.
Mrs Brandon rocked on the kitchen stool nearly falling in a feint. "Here let me help you. You need to sit down. Over here." Daren said, calmly trying to reassure her. He guided her into the lounge to sit on the very same sinful sofa, where she folded weakly onto his knees. He pulled the dressing gown to one side.
"No! I mustn't. I'm a married woman. You mustn't do that. Please. Oh!" Her voice trailed off to nothing. Once more fingers worked magically upon her body only this time with more confidence. "Please stop. This is wrong." She repeated, making no attempt to stop him. The same ointment had been found under the sofa for two hands to lavishly spread the grease over her upturned bottom. His fingers polished the glistening softness working their magic upon over-wrought senses. "Oh. No! You mustn't. Please!" She gasped. "Yes!"
Two fingers probed finding different places to explore. A steady rhythm of fingers and thumb worked hard, a little more expertly than the night before. She writhed and squirmed desperately thrusting her crotch up at those tormenting digits grasping his fingers inside to heighten the exquisite sensations. "Yes! I'm coming!" She screeched.
He slipped the supine body gently to the floor then lifted her head cupping her face in his wet hands forcing her to look him in the eye. "What do you say, Mrs Brandon." He asked.
Falling back into the role she had played last night it was easy to reply. "Thank you, Sir."
He guided her head into his lap for something else he had heard about but never experienced. Intently watching a tongue tentatively flick against the head of his cock held him captive as completely as she had been ensnared. Watching a pair of luscious lips cautiously suck the head between them and the feeling of her tongue playing against sensitive skin was too much to bear. He pulled her head forward burying himself in her face.
Choking, retching and protesting, it made no difference, for he was beyond caring. He fell back into the sofa pulling her head forcefully, burying his cock deep into her throat.
***
Mr Brandon complimented Daren on a job well done. "You handled that like an expert. I couldn't have done a better job myself." He said, while his wife stood quietly not knowing what to say, too self-conscious to join in. "What do you think, darling? Has he got the magic touch or not." John asked his wife.
"He certainly knows what he is doing." Nadine agreed.
"Now you're taking over that tedious task Nadine won't be nagging me and I have more time to play golf." He laughed. "That bush of hers looks superb, I've never seen it looking so alive. You have a gift for gardening." He said, while hefting a golf bag over his shoulder.
"Thank you, Mr Brandon. That hedge trimmer is a brilliant piece of equipment. It takes half the time compared to the old one."
Mrs Brandon thought about men and their toys but made no comment, simply handing their new gardener a glass of juice.
"Thank you, Mrs Brandon. It certainly gave me a thirst hefting that trimmer around." Daren said.
She almost replied, "Thank you, Sir." As he handed back the glass, but caught the 'Sir' in time.
As her husband drove off she knew the moment had arrived for a change of roles, as she had done so often over the past two weeks, from housewife to sex toy. Daren would be stepping into the kitchen from the garden at any moment, to take control of another of his new toys. She wondered if he had brought another accessory, for as his plaything she had an intense concern over what new attachment she might be wearing.
She was wearing one at the moment. She wriggled her bottom; clenching both cheeks as a reminder that she had been reduced to a mere toy fitted with accessories by an attentive owner. Resigned to playing along with whatever took his fancy she hoped it wouldn't be painful.
