It’s his fault, he should have been more attentive

9/10/2013

Francesca glances at the clock. 7:30 p.m., past time to
get ready. She reread her husband’s morning note: I
have a really important meeting today. Since it
looks to be a long one, I’m sending my limo driver to take
you to tonight’s party. He’ll be there to pick you up
at 8:00 sharp, so please be ready. Wear last night’s outfit,
it was incredibly sexy. I’ll meet you there.


Crumpling the paper, she tossed it. “Asshole!” she
cursed. She flopped onto her sofa, feeling insignificant;
ignored; taken for granted. Once again she’d taken a
back seat to her husband’s career. She shook her head.
“What? I’m not important enough for you to take me there
yourself?”


At least his reference to last night’s outfit was refreshing.
He’d obviously liked it, as evidenced by their torrid
love session that lasted well into the evening. She smiled.
It was the best sex—the ONLY sex—they’d shared in
a month. Great sex would be a more apt description—the
best in memory. Since her outfit was amazingly kinky and
provocative, it really didn’t surprise her it had aroused
him so. Just trying it on had made her horny. It must have
affected him similarly, for moments after seeing her in
it she’d been tossed over his shoulder, carried to the
bedroom, unceremoniously plopped onto the bed, and fucked
silly while still wearing it. She squeezed her thighs together,
her cootchie tingling at the memory.


A glance at the clock spurred her to action—she needed
to get ready. Anal about punctuality, few things irritated
her husband more than her being late.


The party was a full-costume masquerade with prizes to
be awarded to the most sexily dressed guests. Walking to
the closet, she pulled out her cheerleader’s costume.
With a skirt far too short for any principal or teacher to
allow it to be worn at school, she thought it had a fair chance
to win; especially when matched with crotchless panties
and a low cut bra.


Stripping, she stood before the full-length mirror staring
at her naked reflection, liking what she saw. She worked
out regularly, which kept her trim. Her waistline was small,
her tummy tight, and the swell of her hips undeniably feminine.
She twisted around, checking out her backside. Many a guy
had commented on what a fine ass she had. It had done them
little good however, the only man to ever get into her pants
was her husband.


She spun about for another frontal view. Like most women
she wished her breasts were larger, but the overall package
couldn’t be all that bad considering how guys checked
her out whenever she was out in public. Most guys anyway—her
husband rarely took notice. Smiling, she bit her lower
lip. With last night being the notable exception!



She held the outfit in front of her. It was a skirt/blouse
combination. The skirt barely hid her sweet parts. Her
skimpy top covered even less. God, but it was sexy. Ironically,
he’d been her inspiration in designing it. A few months
back, while attending a basketball game, she’d caught
him ogling the cheerleaders more than once. Although it
had made her horribly jealous at the time, last night more
than made up for those brief moments of insecurity.


She put on her bra and fastened the snap, its incredibly
sexy engineering made her appear larger than she really
is. So much so that seeing her reflection stirs her crotch.
Nothing makes a woman feel more desired than provoking
a man’s lust. She sighs. Conversely, nothing
makes her feel less wanted than being ignored—like having
some hireling you to an evening’s gala.


She slips on the outfit and smoothes out the skirt, giving
passing thought to not wearing panties. She sighs. With
so many of her husband’s business associates attending,
that would be taking things too far, despite the party’s
risqué theme.


But what if I did?


She pictures some masked stranger at the party reacting
to her naughty outfit much as her husband had. In her fantasy,
she’s dragged by the wrist into a darkened room where,
ignoring her protests, he cups his hand over her mouth and
buries his stiffened cock deep inside her unprotected
cunt. Lying with legs splayed, she squirms beneath this
carnal assault from a man whose face she can’t even see,
stunned by how aroused it’s making her. “Oh God, ”
she yelps when he jerks her top down, bra and all, “what
are you doing?”


He continues undaunted, exploring her nakedness. He even
has the audacity to laugh out loud when her pelvis starts
bucking and she cums all over him. Still he fucks on—his
licentious grin letting her know what she just experienced
is only the first what will be of many.


Francesca’s hand drifts between her thighs, her middle
finger probing, as erotically vivid images of her despoilment
dance through her mind.


She’s moments short of getting herself off when the doorbell
rings. My ride!


She slips on her panties, adjusts her skirt, and hurries
to answer the door. There, dressed in black, stands her
chauffer; one very tall and handsome chauffer. “Mrs.
Anderson?” he asks, his eyes flitting over her school-girlish
attire making no effort to hide his more than casual interest.



This gorgeous stud has been in her presence mere seconds
and already he wants her. I love this outfit. Being
lusted after is so foreign to her, so arousing, that she
simply stands there staring into his hungry eyes, basking
in the glory of the moment.


He clears his throat. “I’m here to you to your
party.”


“Of course, ” she blurts, recovering her senses.
“Come in.”


She checks out him as he steps inside. Broad of shoulder
and firm of ass, he’s a veritable hunk. She catches a whiff
of his cologne. Whatever he’s wearing smells scrumptious.
The sight and smell of him have her recently abused sweet
parts throbbing again. “I’m Francesca, ” she greets.
“And you’re…?”


He smiles, flashing a set of perfect white teeth. “It’s
James, ma’am.”


She bursts out laughing, spurring a puzzled look. “Sorry.
It’s just that every butler or chauffer in the movies
is invariably named James.” She gestures toward the
couch. “Have a seat, I’m not quite ready.”


He smiles, shaking his head. “Thanks, but I’d prefer
to stand.”


“Suit yourself.”


She heads for her bedroom, watching his reflection as she
passes the broad mirror hanging on the wall behind her couch.
His eyes scour her body, mentally undressing her. She shivers.
In her current state those lewd stares are an aphrodisiac;
unneeded fuel being tossed on an already raging fire.


As much as she enjoys being ogled, she needs to change, and
reluctantly closes the door behind her. After braiding
her hair into pigtails, she fetches her bobby socks and
saddle shoes, the final touches to her ingénue look. Anxious
to experience more of his libidinous gawks, she decides
to finish dressing in front of him and returns to the living
room couch.


Her skirt crawls up her thighs as she sits. When she raises
a leg to put on a sock, her crotchless panties gap, exposing
her pussy. Can he see it? She bites her lip; she’s
never felt so wicked.


Bending far enough forward to shield her face from his view,
she steals a glance at his crotch. The bulge she spots there
can only be the result a swollen cock. She chokes back a grin.
He wants my pussy! Her groin moistens at the prospect, making
her to ponder what having sex with a man other than her husband
would be like.


She shifts legs, lifting this one even higher. Her skirt
rides up accordingly, exposing her entire crotch. She
steals another glance at his manhood. His bulge has grown,
incredibly so. That thing has to be huge. I’d kill
to see what it looks like.


She puts on the shoes and stands, holding out her arms. “Do
you like?”


Face flushed, James is clearly taken aback by her audacious
behavior. “I’d have to be either crazy or gay to not
like.”


Standing with hands on hips, she opens her stance. “I’m
supposed to be a naughty school girl.” She does a pirouette.
“Did I succeed with the look?”


He nods, his mouth stretching into an appreciative grin.
“Most definitely, ma’am.”


“How about trampy; she’s an awful slut.”


He looks her up and down, “That outfit would make a
envious, ma’am.”


Seduced by the effect her outfit was having on him—and
on herself, she decides to tease him further. She reaches
behind her, pretending to struggle with a button. In reality
she’s undoing one. Turning her back to him, she peeks
over her shoulder. “Could you give me a hand please; I
can’t seem to get this damned thing buttoned.”


“Of course.”


She watches his reflection as he slowly closes the gap between
them. He fumbles with her button, taking his time before
glancing up at their reflection, eyes twinkling. “Fixed.”



“Thanks, ” she says, the sparkle in her eyes matching
his. “This blouse was designed to show off my titties.
You know, like those randy little cheerleaders you boffed
back in high school wished they could have done.” She
twists her head around, looking up at him. “You’re
tall, can you see down my front? Did this naughty girl achieve
her desired effect?” She giggles inwardly. I just
referred to the cheerleader as if she were me.


He leans forward, peeking at her chest. “Since I can see
the tops of her nipples, ” he says, his voice graveled,
“I’d say she achieved her goal.”


How interesting the talks as if I were her too. She
grins. “Is she making you horny?” she asks, pushing
her ass back at his crotch.


His hands slide to her hips, locking her in place. His eyes
narrow. “Now why would you ask a question like that?”
he asks, his facial expression resembling an aroused male
on the prowl, not some chauffeur for hire.


She flashes a suggestive smile. “Because that’s what
her outfit’s designed to do. If it doesn’t make you
want her, it’s failed its mission.” She rubs her butt
against his firmness. “Somehow I’m guessing she succeeded.”



“What gave me away?” he asks, pressing his erection
into her ass.


“Well, among other things…” she pushes back his
hardness, “the look in your eyes when you looked up her
skirt.” She crinkles her nose. “I could tell you were
wondering just how naughty she is.”


She can’t believe how horny arousing her husband’s
lackey is making her. “I’m curious, James, which do
you find sluttiest, the typical white cotton panties that
real cheerleaders wear, or…” she leans forward, and
twisting around to face him, lifts her dress and pulls her
panties so taut they expose her ass cheeks. She flashes
her best come fuck me smile, “or the black crotchless
this one’s wearing?”


“Definitely the ones this one’s wearing, ” he says,
reaching out grasp an ass cheek with either hand.


She pushes back toward his hands, savoring his manly touch.



Apparently encouraged by her actions, he lowers a hand,
groping her love nest as he probes her scandalous garment.



Despite the fact that he’s just taken things beyond where
she wanted them, it’s all she can do to hold still, especially
when his middle finger finds the slit in her panties and
drags along her moistness. She does nothing to stop him.
After all, he initiated this action, not her. She’s guiltless—a
doer of no wrong. She’s confident she can stop things
if they get out of hand—but not just yet; it feels way too
good to be touched there.


She gasps as a finger slides up her hole. “James! What
are you doing?”


He probes deeper, caressing her swollen clit in the process.
Despite her voiced protest over his digital assault, she
leans forward bracing her arms on the couch giving him better
access, biting her lip in an effort to not cry out.


He finger-fucks her, his steady rhythm making squishing
sounds. The pungent aroma of pussy juices fills the room.
“You shouldn’t be doing that, sir, ” she objects,
her pelvis taking up his cadence. I called him sir, not
James. Has this teenage taken me over?


He removes his finger and spins her around to face him.


Thank God I said something. Much more of that and I’m
not sure I could resist him. However, no sooner is she standing than he jerks down her
blouse and bra and begins pinching her nipples. Hers hands
fold over his—holding them in place instead of removing
them. “Oh, sir, you’re doing such awful things to me, ”
she whimpers.


A hand releases a tit and slides down to her snatch, fingers
burrowing. She gasps. “Oh, what you’re doing to me
is wrong, sir, ” she objects, squirming on his finger.
She peeks at the wall clock. It’s quarter to eight. “If
you don’t stop I’ll make me late for my party.”


By now the drenched crotch of this naughty schoolgirl is
rising to greet each and every thrust of James’ plunging
finger, his firm male flesh tantalizing her hot wet female
equivalent. “Oh, sir, ” she whispers, humping his
probing finger.


He laughs. “I’m thinking my horny little cheerleader
is in need of a good fucking, ” he taunts, pushing his
finger deeper.


Is he serious? Would he?


Every faithful wife has a point beyond which her wedding
vows are forgotten. Desperate to cum, it was clear to Francesca
that James had just taken his little cheerleader across
that threshold. “Faster!” she pleads, her writhing
pussy attacking his hand. “I’m almost there.”


Her pussy flushes as a mind-blowing orgasm washes over
her.


James waits for her gyrations to cease, then tugs her over
to the ottoman she keeps in front of her EZ-chair, his finger
never leaving her. Pushing on the back of her head, her forces
her to bend over the footstool. She flops forward, catching
her weight on her elbows, sure of what will follow. Sure
enough, she hears the sliding of a zipper, followed by the
touch of hot flesh on her ass.


I have to distract him.


Panicked, she twists around on her knees. With James’
pants down around his ankles, she has an unobstructed view
of his erection, only the second she’s seen firsthand.
She marvels at its large size and appearance. Although
obviously hard, somehow it seems soft and satiny at the
same time. It’s an enigma; a delicious looking one worthy
of closer attention.


Her hand glides up to stroke it, fingers fondling. She pulls
his firmness to the hollow of a cheek, then under her chin
and across her forehead. Staring up at him, she does her
best imitation of a confused young schoolgirl too caught
up by events to grasp her own actions. With an innocent blink,
she opens her mouth and captures his cock between her nubile
lips. Eyes locked, they stare at one another as her tongue
explores. She racks her brain, trying to remember all her
husband has taught her about pleasing a man with her mouth,
all the time wondering why she hadn’t done this very thing
back in her high school days when she’d wore an outfit
like this one for real. Thankfully, fate granted her a second
chance.


She takes him all the way down her gullet. Sucking the cock
of her husband’s employee has her feeling deliciously
wanton. She fingers her pussy, imagining herself dressed
this way in the backseat of some young boy’s car, kneeling
between his outstretched thighs with her face pinned to
his crotch as he comes in her mouth. She image makes her shudder.



But those days are history. She’s a grown woman now, not
some schoolgirl virgin trying to experience the glory
of sex without surrendering her cherry. She rationalizes
her actions. Since neither having a finger up your pussy
nor a cock in your mouth qualifies as adultery, she isn’t
being unfaithful. Didn’t Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky
establish that? She’ll get James off this way and that
will be that, just like with the boy in her backseat fantasy.



In her fevered state however, she can’t help wondering
how a new and different penis would feel in her pussy—especially
one as large as James’s. She contemplates it. As long
as he doesn’t cum inside of me the sex act won’t be complete—I
won’t be being unfaithful. If we finish doggy style and
he could even cum on my ass.


She lifts her face away, offering a come hither look. “You’re
imaging yourself getting this blow job from some horny
schoolgirl virgin aren’t you, one you’ll get so excited
that she’ll let you fuck her afterwards?”


Relishing her use of such dirty language, her pouting mouth
returns to his raging hard on. James grunts in response,
obviously enjoying what she’s doing. She lifts away
again. “Would it seem like you were deflowering a virgin
if I squealed while you fucked me?” Her question has the desired effect as James thrusts deeper
into her mouth.


She concentrates on her sucking, her slurps filling the
room. She draws back and rolls her tongue over his bulbous
cockhead. “You know, in a way I still am a virgin, ”
she smacks her lips, “at least where men other than my
husband are concerned.”


Replacing her mouth with a hand, she stands. Rising to her
tiptoes, she leans in until her mouth is only inches from
his. “Let me make myself perfectly clear, ” she whispers,
squeezing his cock, “no man but my husband has ever fucked
me.” She nips his lip. “You’d be the first.” It’s
all she could do to contain her rising arousal as she continues
her filthy diatribe. “Does that possibility excite
you?” She squeezes his member, “Just imagine this
big old cock of yours being someplace only one man’s has
visited before you?” She licks his cheek. “Wouldn’t
that be fantastic?”


He responds by kissing her; hard.


She savors the taste of his mouth awhile before breaking
away. “Were I to let that happen, how would you screw me?”



“style, " he croaks, barely able to speak.



Giggling, she places her hand over his mouth. “How naughty
of you; fucking another man’s wife in such a beastly way."



James’ fingers find her tits—her very firm and swollen
tits. He bends down and captures one in his mouth. She arches
her chest forward, savoring the sensation.


The torture quickly becomes too exquisite. “Enough!
Do it! Fuck this teenage !” Twisting her back to
him, she bends over the ottoman. “Shove that hard old
cock of yours up her sweet young cunt and show the little
slut what it’s like to take on a real dick instead of cumming
on her vibrator. Don’t stop until her pussy flushes all
over you.”


She peeks back over her shoulder. “Be sure to pull out
though; she’s too young to be on the pill.”


Francesca looks up at the mirror. Her hair is mussed, as
is her cock smudged makeup. Bent over a piece of furniture
with her sodden cunt poised to be taken from behind, she
looks every bit the high school she’s so desperately
trying to portray.


She watches the tip of his rigid member part the gap in her
panties and make contact with her swollen pussy lips. She
gasps as he enters her. But as arousing as it is to watch that
monstrous battering ram invade her privates, the ecstasy
of experiencing her second ever cock is too much and her
eyes flutter shut.


James plunges all the way into her, impaling her. Having
such a large organ in her tight little vagina steals her
breath away. She bites her lip. Thicker and longer than
her husband’s, it’s stretched her to the point that
it actually hurts.


Despite the pain, as aroused as she is by thirty minutes
of non-stop horniness, he no sooner starts fucking her
than she succumbs to an orgasm. It washes over her. The virgin-like
squeals she’d promised him earlier now reverberate
around the room as she humps that marvelous male organ that’s
triggering her ecstasy.


Although James had clearly seized control, Francesca
still believes it’s within her power to stop him short
of cumming inside of her. That would be committing
adultery by any definition. If for no other reason than
to appease her guilt, he needs to pull out before he cums.
After all, nearly fucking by a man isn’t the same as actually
getting fucked by him.


The ramming thrusts of his pounding cock combine with the
lurid knowledge that she’s getting laid by the very person
her husband sent as his surrogate to transform this once
faithful housewife into a sex craved, no holds barred,
cock hungry female.


Realizing she’s losing all semblance of control, she
decides to remind him to pull out in time. Before she can
speak he grabs her hair and jerks her head backwards, his
action forcing her back to arch, altering his angle of entry.
His cock is now rubbing her G-spot. “Oh God, oh God, oh
God!” she cries as she succumbs to another orgasm.


The powerful thrusts of their frenzied fuck is scooting
them across the floor. What had started out as a coupling
has turned into a savage taking—reminiscent of the one
she’d imagined that businessman doing to her in that
darkened room. That mind image spills her over the top.
Francesca cums even harder, chauffeured to nirvana by
the oversized cock of her husband’s lackey.


Her climax triggers his. Grabbing her hips, he pins her
body to his. Holding his cock deep inside her, he releases
his seed. Jet after jet of hot male semen blasts her once
chaste womb. Her mind blanks as he spurts inside of her,
her ecstatic cries and his grunts filling the room.


Finally spent, he eases himself out of her. “You are one
bodacious fuck, Mrs. Anderson.”


Savoring that approval, Francesca lies there feeling
their juices ooze out her opening, soiling her brand new
panties; the sanctity of her once faithful marriage now
a thing of the past. Strangely, instead of triggering remorse,
the fact that she’s just let a man other than her husband
fuck her arouses her.


She thinks of her upcoming party—the one she’s assuredly
late for by now. Her husband will be pissed, sure to abandon
her for most of the night. But then, that’s what he typically
does at social occasions.


The more important question is whether the reek of recent
sex will attract the other males. James called me a bodacious
fuck! Smiling, she decides to not change her panties
or clean herself up. Let that illicit smudge serve notice
to any man bold enough to seduce her that this not-so-innocent
little cheerleader is his for the taking


She stands. After straightening her clothing, she turns
toward James. “It’s late, we should go.”


She walks to the door and waits until he’s opened it before
offering a smile. “I would be remiss if I didn’t thank
you for ‘coming’ on my husband’s behalf.” She
reaches down to squeeze his family jewels, “and for validating
my outfit’s sex appeal.”


Laughing, she heads for the parking lot in search of his
limo, wondering what other adventures this evening might
hold, surprised at how anxious she is to find that out.


* * *


James is all business once their limo arrives. He opens
Francesca’s door and helps her out, giving no hint whatsoever
of their recent carnal exchange. Looking around, Francesca
spies her husband waving from the doorway, his face concealed
behind a mask. He motions her over.


“There you are, my dear.” Taking hold of her by the hands,
he looks her over, clearly proud of his trophy wife. “If
that outfit doesn’t take first place, the contest is
bogus. However, it is a masquerade—guests aren’t
supposed to be able to recognize one another.” He withdraws
a black eye-mask from his pocket. “This should assure
your anonymity, ” he says, slipping it onto her head.
He smiles. “Now go inside and enjoy yourself, Darling,
I have to attend.”


She seethes. I knew it!


Teeth grinding, she enters the lavish mansion, his callous
dismissal assuaging any lingering guilt she might have
had about fucking the chauffer. If anything, his total
disregard justified her actions. Smiling, she looks around.
The evening is young and… the there’s party full
of horny men.


All eyes turn her way as she makes her entry. More accurately,
their faces turn her way. With everyone masked, their eyes
are hidden.


Knowing she’s the center of attention, she assumes the
role of her costume. Looking alone and frightened, she
heads for the bar. The murmured comments her outfit spawns
bolster her hope of winning a prize.


The grinning bartender gives her the once over. “Are
you sure you’re old enough to drink, Miss?”


His remark fuels her naughty-girl persona. “It’s
OK sir. Although I’m young…” she randomly points
at a group of chatting men, “that older gentlemen there
said I should have a drink or two. He said it would make the
party more fun.”


Laughing, the bartender winks. “You can’t argue that.”
He shakes his head, “It’s my piss-poor luck to be working
tonight. What’ll it be, Sweetheart?”


As she sips her drink she glances around, taking in the revelers.
One of the gentlemen she’d pointed to is looking her up
and down, sporting a lewd grin. Pursing her lips, she gives
him the sort of incomprehensive smile a teenaged ditz would
do. Playing the role the wide-eyed ingénue is way more
fun than that of the ignored wife.


His eyes roam her torso, making her feel like a piece of merchandise—the
kind dirty old men crave. He’s short, bald and slightly
overweight. Somehow the fact that it isn’t an Adonis
flirting with her adds to the sense of profanity. Is
this how a feels when a picks her out?
But she’s no . They take money for their services.
She’s just some teenaged slut too stupid to capitalize
on such favors.


The sexual tension the man triggers brings flashbacks
of her earlier fantasy. Will her outfit spur him to drag
her off to some darkened room? Her groin tingles at the prospect.



She’d wanted to come here commando, but feared not wearing
a thong would make a bad impression on her husband’s associates.
With this mask on, no one knows who I am. She grins.
Perhaps being ignored by ones husband isn’t so bad after
all.


She’s still grinning when she opens the door to the bathroom
and steps inside.


Two minutes later she’s back at the party, her panties
in her purse and her heart palpitating. With her tingling
crotch now covered by nothing but her risqué skirt, she
feels every bit the promiscuous teenybopper her outfit
advertises. And she’s anonymous, with nothing governing
her behavior; with no judgmental inner voice restricting
her actions. What could be more exciting?


Ignoring what are undoubtedly more attractive men, her
gaze seeks out the one who’d ogled her earlier—the
one who’s already made no bones about that fact that he
wants to do nasty things to her.


She spots him standing on the far side of the room, watching
her. There’s an empty chair beside her that faces his
direction. Making eye contact, she smiles and sits down,
and then crosses her legs, offering an ever-so brief view
of her naked crotch. Did he notice?


Seconds later he’s standing in front of her chatting
her up. “My, what a sweet young thing, ” is his opening
volley. He cocks his head to one side, scratching his chin,
“Have we met before? You look incredibly familiar.”



Her heart races. The last thing she wants or needs is for
one her husband’s business associates to recognize
her. That would ruin everything. “I don’t
think so, sir, ” she says in her sweetest teenage voice.



He laughs. “Of course, how silly of me. After all, we’re
wearing masks. Still…” He snaps his fingers. “Ah!
I know what it is!” he says with a laugh.


What on Earth? She offers up a coquettish smile.
“Are you going to share your epiphany, sir?”


“Would you like me too?”


“Of course, ” she says, winking to make sure he realizes
she’s flirting.


“This may sound strange, but my epiphany is better seen
than told.” He holds out a hand. “Come, I’ll show
you, ” he says, helping her out of her chair.


He leads her through a pair of French doors onto a veranda
that overlooks a huge and meticulously maintained garden.
He heads down its center path with her in tow.


She looks back over her shoulder, making sure her husband
isn’t witnessing her departure. “Where are you taking
me, sir?” she asks, doing her best to sound naïve. “I’m
not sure the two of us be here.”


“Patience, we’re almost there, ” he assures. “What
I want to show you is in that building, ” he says, pointing.



They weave their way toward what appears to servant’s
quarters buried in the midst of some trees. They halt just
outside its door. “Are you sure the owner won’t object
to us being here?” she asks.


He laughs. “Not likely, since I am the owner.”


Oh my God! This man’s my husband’s boss.


Surprisingly, instead of sending her into a panic, the
fact that it’s her husband’s boss putting the make
on her—or more accurately, a teenage , is exhilarating.



He opens the door, turns on the lights, locks the door behind
them, and closes the shades. “That’s to kill any glare, ”
he says, searching a cabinet of DVD’s. “Ah, here it
is, ” he proclaims, holding up a movie.


He loads it into a player, adjusts several dials, then mixes
them drinks. ‘Mixing’ is an overstatement, since
all he did was pour liquor over ice. He leads her to a couch.
Sitting beside her, he clicks the ‘on’ button and the
movie begins. “Now you’ll see why I thought you looked
familiar.”


The opening scene shows a group of high school cheerleaders
practicing in a gym, their outfits every bit as indecent
as hers. They’ve hardly begun their workout when a messenger
arrives telling one of the girls the principal wants to
see her. She could pass for a younger version of Francesca.



Although seeing her look-alike initially captures her
attention, all concern for this B-grade movie vanishes
when a hand finds her knee and starts massaging it. “Stop, ”
she protests as friendly as she can, and pushes his hand
aside.


“Why?”


She blushes. “If you must know, I’m ticklish.” It
was a true statement.


“Maybe we should anesthetize you then, ” he says,
leaning forward to pick up her drink. He brings it to her
mouth. “Open Sesame.”


She’s about to obey when she remembers her assumed identity.
“I don’t know, sir. I already drank one, and I’m not
used to alcohol.”


“Nonsense.”


He places a hand behind her head and begins pouring the drink
into her mouth. Forced to choose between gulping or choking,
she can’t even feign resistance. He doesn’t relent
until the glass is empty, at which time his hand returns
to her leg—several inches higher than before. “Does
it still tickle?” he asks, stroking the inside of her
thigh.


It does, but it’s more than offset by the pleasure it invokes.
She looks down at his hand, watching his strokes broaden,
each one reaching roaming than its predecessor. Another
few inches and he’ll know for sure she’s wearing nothing
underneath. “It still tickles, but not as much.”


“I guess we need more emollient then.” He grabs the
drink he’d fixed for himself. “You know the drill, ”
he says, bringing it to her mouth.


“I don’t think…”


Icy liquid chokes off her sentence. She really didn’t
want more, but that fact that he’s dumping it into her
mouth leaves her little choice. He’s pouring too fast,
however. Before the glass is half emptied, booze is spilling
out the side of her mouth, running down her cheek and shoulder
to her chest. Choking, she coughs.


He lifts the glass away. “Sorry, ” he says, inspecting
the spill. “That will stain if we don’t wipe it off.”



He reaches for one of the napkins they’d used as a coaster
and starts dabbing her cheek; then her neck—and her shoulder,
and finally…


Her blouse U-shaped, dropping straight from the shoulders
to her breasts, where it angles to the opposite side and
back up. More importantly, it shows off most of her cleavage.



He slides the blouse off her dampened shoulder. Drying
in circles, he dabs away the moisture. They’re getting
dangerously close to intimacy and she doesn’t even know
his name. “What should I call you, sir?”


He glances up. “Daddy.”


His gaze returns to his circling hand as it works its way
down to her cleavage. Her intake of air is audible when he
touches her there. Smiling eyes look her way. “You marvelous
lovely titties, my dear.”


By this time his ministrations have reached her nipple—one
that James claimed could be seen from above. He lowers the
elastic band enough to expose her bra. It’s so shear her
aureoles are visible. Large, they protrude a full quarter
inch when she’s aroused. They’re protruding.


She watches him dry it with the napkin. “I don’t think
you should touch me there, Daddy.”


“Why not?”


“Because it feels too good. I can hardly hold still.”



“That’s a good thing!”


She gasps as he pinches a nipple. Her hips lurch. “Please
don’t?” she begs.


“OK Sweetie, I’ll stop, ” he winks, “…for the
time being.”


Leaving her nipple exposed he sits back, watching TV. His
massaging hand returns to her thigh. His way too clever
hand.


She tips her head back, looking briefly at the ceiling before
her eyes close. A distant part of her is vaguely aware the
movie was still running, but with his hand now under her
skirt, mere inches from her very drenched pussy, the movie
is beyond her concern. Also gone is any hint of her former
ticklishness. His fingers now feel so good it’s hard
for her to hold still. Too hard in fact. Without conscious
thought, her knees lift and her thighs spread wide, opening
herself to his probing hand.


Apparently deciding he’s teased her enough, his hand
closes over her pussy. Her hips lurch as her head twists
sharply to one side. “You shouldn’t do that, Daddy, ”
she gasps.


“Why, does it feel too good too? I’m guessing that’s
what your look-alike-friend thinks.”


Francesca looks up at the screen. The cheerleader is standing
beside the school Principal, leaning against his desk.
Her skirt’s been raised above her waist and her panties
are around her ankles. The administrator is kissing her
neck, and more importantly, probing her pussy.


“Oh god, ” Francesca moans, “you’re showing
me a porno.”


“I prefer to think of it as a training film, ” he says,
inserting two more fingers.


Francesca’s pussy is throbbing so it feels as if it’s
vibrating. She’d come to this party secretly hoping
to act out her fantasy. To her immense pleasure things are
unfolding almost according to plot—and doing it for
real is way better. She wonders if this portly fellow known
only as Daddy—and her husband’s boss—will ravish
her. Her eyes flutter shut as she imagines it happening.



“Ah! Ah! Open them! The best part of the movie is here.”
He nods at the screen.


Although far more interested in what Daddy’s doing to
her than what’s happening in a movie, she nonetheless
looks.


The cinema cheerleader is staring at the Principal erect
penis. Francesca’s mouth goes dry as she watches the
man press on the girl’s shoulders, forcing her to her
knees.


She turns to the man beside her. “Daddy, ” she says,
swallowing with difficulty. “This is a very naughty
movie. Momma wouldn’t approve.”


“It’s a good thing she’s not here then, ” he says,
capturing a breast in his mouth. Gripping her bra with his
teeth, he rips it out of the way, his mouth enveloping her
exposed titty.


“Oh, Daddy! What are you doing?”


“You have that backwards, my dear, ” he says, unzipping
his fly. “Take off my pants!”


Kneeling, trembling fingers tug off his trousers. He isn’t
wearing underwear. She looks up. “What are you going
to make me do?”


“Your answer’s on the screen, ” he says, pulling
her hand to his erection, the second one she’s touched
in a two hour timeframe—neither of them her husband’s.



Although shorter than either James or her husband, Daddy’s
cock is thick and hot to the touch. A hand finds the back of
her head, pressing her to his lap. “Start sucking, little
princess.”


Totally caught up in her ingénue role, she obeys without
hesitation. Gripping the base of his penis, she opens her
gullet and swallows, slowly bobbing up and down his member,
hardly believing she’s been at this party for less than
an hour and is already sucking a man’s cock. A mere three
hours ago she’d been a chaste, albeit, mostly ignored
wife. Now she’s on the brink of getting fucked by her husband’s
boss. Wait! Not her—some teenage slut whose identity
no one knows.


She throws herself into her task, doing her best to please
him. She’s so into it that her efforts quickly tire her.
She lifts her head away, wiping away the strings of saliva
that run from her mouth to his penis. She gives him a smoky
stare, hoping he can see it through the slits of her mask.
“Shame on you Daddy for making me do such awful things.”



No sooner are the words out of her mouth than similar words
echo from the TV: “Oh, Principal Smith, you’re making
me do such awful things.”


Francesca looks, the movie having recaptured her interest.
Her movie persona is standing limply in front the Principal,
watching him strip her off her clothing. Once he has her
naked, he presses her backwards until she’s lying supine
on his desk. Taking hold of his cock, he steps between her
thighs. She places her hands on his chest. “Please don’t
sir, I’m a virgin, ” but there’s no hint of force
behind either her hands or her words.


Aroused by what’s unfolding on the screen, Daddy pulls
Francesca up on lap, her back to him facing the television.
While one hand massages a breast, the other reaches between
her thighs and positions his cock at her opening. On screen,
the Principal does the identical thing.


If Francesca’s cheerleader persona is her alter ego,
her on-screen look-alike is her alter, alter ego. Aroused
and confused by drink, Francesca can hardly distinguish
between the three of them. Which girl am I?


Daddy lifts his hips. His tip penetrates her. “Please
sir, I’m a virgin, ” she protests, parroting what
she just heard.


Daddy laughs. “Yeah, right, sure you are!” he says,
inching into her depths.


The physical contact triggers a lucid moment, Francesca’s
first since arriving. She gives thought to what she’s
doing. I’m risking my marriage for the thrill of illicit
sex. This is insane! “Please, can’t we just watch
the movie?” she begs, twisting around to face him.


He studied her, assessing her earnestness. “OK, providing
you remain where you are.”


It wasn’t the response she’d hoped for, but at least
he stopped halfway in. She stares at the screen in a vain
effort to ignore the fact that Daddy’s cock is nestled
between two very drenched pussy lips, tantalizing her
insides.


The principal shows far less restraint than Daddy as he
pokes a rather monstrous member—the kind only seen in
porn movies—up that poor girl’s pussy. “Oh God!”
she screeches, writhing beneath him in a manner reminiscent
of Francesca’s fantasy.


The Principal’s cock is no longer visible. The girl is
lying spread-eagled on his desk with her eyes closed and
her arms spread to either side, her hips rising to greet
each of the older man’s thrusts. “Oh, Principal Smith, ”
she wails, “you have your big old cock in my pussy and you’re
fucking me.”


Although far from Academy Award winning lines, this seemingly
helpless young girl is acting out Francesca’s fantasy
to a tee. She bites her lips as she envisions herself as the
girl in the movie. I wonder if I have that same glazed
look in my eyes when I’m getting fucked. If that were me,
would my hips buck off the desk the way hers do? Would I have
resisted such an assertive man, or would I have surrendered
myself to him as easily as she did? Francesca finds
herself wishing she had herself on film.


A voice behind her shatters her reverie. “I bet your pussy’s
a bit envious, huh? Not to worry, ” Daddy whispers as
his cock plumbs her depths.


It’s happened, she getting fucked, the second time in
a matter of hours. A part of her knows she should stop him,
but that tiny bit of conscience is more than overwhelmed
by the pleasure created by Daddy’s invading cock. “Oh,
that feel so-o good, ” she moans.


Although her eyes are closed, she can still hear the movie.
“Please don’t cum inside me, ” the girl begs. “I’m
not on the pill.”


“I sure have to cum somewhere, ” the Principal complains.



Francesca looks at the screen, struggling to focus. The
principal has spun the young girl’s body so that her head
is dangling off the edge of the desk. He slides his cock into
her mouth. “This orifice should do quite nicely.”



Daddy lips touch her ear. “That won’t happen to you
Francesca; I plan to cum in your pussy.”


He just said my name! She twists her torso around,
giving him a wide-eyed stare.


He laughs. “That’s right, I know who you are. Your husband
pointed you out when the chauffeur dropped you off.”
He jerks off her mask away. “Now that everything’s
out in the open, you’ve no further need of that.”


He nods toward the wall. “Look into one of the cameras
mounted to either side of the TV, ” he says. “I want
our movie to capture your expression as my cock explodes
inside of you.”


God, he’s filming us! “You can’t do this—my husband
might see it.”


“Maybe? Maybe not? It all depends.”


She gives him a suspicious look. “On what?”


“It will take several hours to edit the two film sets into
a single movie. Once that’s done, I could show it to your
husband, or…” he grins, “I could assign him to a new
and show it to you instead.”


Stunned, her mouth falls open. He’s blackmailing
me. “And then what—we ‘watch it’ like we we’re
doing with this one?”


He chuckles. “Of course not Silly, we already doing the
cheerleader thing. I have other costumes: the French Maid
and Milkmaid are two of my favorites. I only hope you play
those rolls half as well as you do this one. By the way, you
win the best costume award, hands… err, pants down. But
first things first...”


He pushes her onto her back and crawls between her thighs.
“Look your best for the cameras Francesca, movies are
only as good as the people who make them.” Prying her knees
open, his enters her.


She is so taken back by events she gives no thought to resisting.
Hell, with no say in the matter she might as go along for the
ride. French Maid or Milkmaid, which would I rather
portray? They both have possibilities.


By now Daddy’s cock is pounding her. She shuts her eyes,
curling and biting her lips as his cock pummels her sweet
parts. Her hands slide up to pinch her nipples. She giggles.
Enjoying herself will hardly be a problem.


She brings his mouth down to a breast, her moans adding harmony
to the smacking melody her pelvis makes as it humps up to
his thrusts. Future outfits and roles fade from her mind.



“Fuck me Daddy. Fuck your little cheerleader, like you
planned when you brought her here. Savor the spoils of your
efforts. After all, you were the first to figure out what
a slut she is—for which she’s very grateful. Now see
how many times you can get her off before you cum in her pussy.”



Suddenly her breath is too short to speak. Her body trembles
and shakes. She prays their cabin is far enough from the
main house that the guests can’t hear her cries. It takes
forever for her orgasm to ebb, yet happens all too soon.



“That’s one, ” she giggles, smiling toward a camera.
“But if you want our movie to be watch worthy, you should
give me a few more.”