Paul Rushton always thought about Demi when he jerked off in the shower those days. He considered briefly and sadly that morning, as he soaked under the steaming jets and lathered up his solidifying cock, how long it had been since he pictured his wife during his early morning manual efforts. Countless years, was the sorry answer.
In the early days of his and Martha's marriage solo self-manipulation had not even been necessary, so hearty had been their sex life. The only masturbation taking place had been in each other's company, often with a friendly and helpful exchange of hands. Even the arrival of baby Sophie had only temporarily slowed things down; an adequate supply of sitters had given them space to renew their favourite hobby by the time she was only a few months old. But when Adam and Carl had made their unexpected joint appearance three years later, something had faded away that they had never managed to resuscitate. The twins were five now, both packed off along with Sophie to school, but the only thing that had renewed itself was Martha's career in advertising. Which was what had left Paul home alone this morning, enjoying a more leisurely wank than usual, before he busied himself otherwise in his study.
His masturbatory fantasies had remained general up to the start of the summer, attached to media celebrities and the occasional internet porn-site, but all that had changed when Demi arrived. The crescent moons of those butt cheeks, peeking out saucily from beneath her skin-tight, white shorts one sweltering afternoon, had kicked things off. He had sprung a boner in his shorts as soon as look at her bending over the kids' paddling pool - no traceable panty-line, just a thin layer of cotton fabric stretched taut over firm, smooth bum-flesh - and had needed to jack it off in the bathroom before he could begin to focus on anything else.
Paul had never deliberately entertained sexual thoughts of the family's eighteen-year-old nanny, but she had begun to cloud his brain as completely as the steam that clouded the shower's glass door. It was through this panel that he had glimpsed her bouncy young form one morning, when the bathroom door's locking mechanism had apparently failed, a vision straight out of a shower gel commercial. As if the jaunty swing of her curvy little body around the house had not been enough... Yes, the sexy Canadian girl, with her glossy, raven-black hair and her deep tan, had become quite the mental fixture. The pressure of her ripe young breasts against his chest, as she hugged him goodbye just the day before was on his mind right now, as he massaged his gel-slick shower-time erection.
Had Martha ever been aware of the Demi-effect on her husband's cock? Certainly she had suggested gently to the girl on one occasion that she refrain from dressing down so much on the hotter summer afternoons. But that was most likely to avoid the neighbours' raised eyebrows. Even Paul's renewed gym membership had not aroused any suspicions. You might expect your wife, he thought, to be more aware of a nubile teenager's power to distract her spouse. But Martha had been too happy about her renewed freedom in building up her work portfolio to check whether his eyes were straying Demi's direction. Besides, when was the last time she had seriously acknowledged him as a sexual being? She had obviously expected his libido to fold suddenly on his fortieth birthday. Like that was going to happen...
The current soapy frothing around Paul's dick as his hand movement quickened had all to do with imagination of course, nothing with reality. Demi had been the embodiment of innocence around the house; sprightly, amenable, a big sister to the kids. Always polite and friendly, never presumptuous, with Martha and Paul and over the few short months of summer had been accepted almost as a family member. Paul she had treated like an uncle; a hip, young-for-his-age uncle, maybe, but an uncle even so. The compliments she had passed several weeks into his fitness regime, when he had tightened his belly and regained some of his old muscle tone, could have been construed as borderline flirtation, similarly when she had remarked on the cropping of his moderately receding hair - it made him look 'younger and - kinda stronger' apparently. But he was too much of a realist to flatter himself unduly; if his wife didn't think of him sexually, why should a girl fresh out of High School?
Paul shouldn't have been saddened by the fact. He didn't want or need that sort of trouble and had done nothing, short of a little additional preening, to court it. He should have be glad that all Demi's burgeoning youthful urges had stayed separate from her work. With the arrival of the new primary-school term her summer job had ended and she had departed the Rushton household for good, leaving Paul with a mixture of relief and regret. The regret he was currently working off with the palm of his right hand.
There had, of course, been one slip-up in Demi's professionalism and the memory of it tapped into the ever-building friction on his shaft. The night he and Martha had returned early from dinner with friends to find their hired help tiptoe on the doorstep, kissing some good-looking young guy good-night. It had been her new boyfriend Ray, she explained with red-faced embarrassment once he had left, and he had only ever been round that one evening, and all they had done was watch a DVD. That wasn't the point, Martha explained in a sharp rebuke to the girl. Demi had introduced a stranger into the house without permission - a violation of trust and grounds for dismissal based on the agency contract. It had not come to that, but Martha had still withheld the forty pounds Demi had been promised for an additional Saturday night in and had remained heedless of the girl's forlorn protests that it had been an innocent mistake, one that wouldn't happen again.
The innocence of Demi's evening-in with her boyfriend Paul held in grave doubt. He had recognised the type of kiss Ray had been given and the disarray of the sofa in the living-room. It had been obvious to him that the flush of the nanny's cheeks stemmed from more than shame. Lucky Ray had roared off on his motor bike as cocky as hell, unphased by any sense of social awkwardness. Now there, Paul had thought, was a young buck who knew his way around a naïve eighteen-year-old girl. There was no doubt in his mind that Ray had fully enjoyed the young Canadian on the Rushton family sofa that night and despite a pang of jealousy, he could not blame the guy.
Deep down some perverse aspect of him actually hoped it were the case. He hoped Ray had got Demi naked on the sofa cushions that night, that he had parted her toned young legs and put his cock inside her. Yes, he hoped young Demi had taken a good, hard shafting that night. That she had been forced to stifle her moans, as her opportunist biker-boyfriend serviced her in somebody else's home. Go for it Ray old son, I'd have done it myself at your age. If I can't poke the little sweetheart, then you do it for me and good luck to you. Strip her down and drill her fucking brains out. Go on, let her know what it's all about... Let her fucking feel it...
Paul's hand stopped mid-stroke, as the sound of his mobile phone cut into his lustful reverie, leaving him just shy of his spurting relief. He clambered dripping from the shower, pissed off at his interrupted wank, his undealt-with erection waving in front of him. He knew he should answer the call; it could be Derek from work with news of whether or not the firm had landed the Phillips contract. But the phone rang off before he got to it and the number was withheld, leaving him puddling on the bathroom floor and feeling rather stupid. Disgruntled he turned back to the shower to retrieve his fantasy.
It was then that he heard the other sound, the one from next door. Even above the rush of still-running water the heavy thud was obvious. Someone was in the bedroom. Martha home from work? He couldn't begin to think why. But then who else? Still running with water he picked up his bathrobe and pulled it about himself, then he put his hand gently to the door handle. He was being robbed at ten-thirty in the morning? Some inept, juvenile burglar had walked in through the back door he had so blithely left unlocked? And were they really so bold as to enter his bedroom with someone so obviously using the en suite? A quick scan of the bathroom took in nothing more threatening than a loofah with which to confront such a possibility, but confront it he did nonetheless. His heart quickening slightly, Paul pulled open the door and walked into the bedroom.
He stopped abruptly as soon as he entered the room and looked on stunned. The very object of his aborted masturbation was standing at the bedside, staring back with a look of shock that surpassed his own. 'Demi?'
She had visibly jumped with fright at his entry and now stood in a full-body attitude of horror, Paul's wallet tumbling from her hand to the floor and two banknotes fluttering after it. The lamp on the bedside table had shifted position, as if returned there hastily after some panic-induced accident had knocked it to the floor. Paul stared back at her, his amazement and confusion rapidly morphing into anger.
'Demi - what are you doing?' The question sounded ridiculous, but it still bore asking.
The ex-nanny looked half-disposed to dash for the window and take her chances with the drop, but tried to stammer an explanation instead. 'It's - it's - it's not what it looks like...'
Paul was having difficulty finding words himself. 'It's not what...? Demi, you left yesterday! What are you doing here with my wallet?' Another redundant question. 'How is this not what it looks like?'
'I - I wasn't stealing,' Demi insisted, her tone scared and unconvincing. 'I was just taking the forty pounds, you know, the forty pounds you owed me... For Saturday last...' But her voice was tailing off even as she said it, as Paul stared at her in fresh astonishment.
'Martha withheld that money because you went behind our backs! You brought a stranger into our house while we were gone! She - We made that perfectly clear to you!'
'I know, I know I screwed up.' Demi's voice was desperate, pleading. 'But I worked really hard all summer, it was just one mistake! And... and then the other girls from the agency were going down to Brighton today and I didn't have any spare cash and I just got to thinking... well... that you owed me the money!' She winced as the words left her mouth, as though she knew she had played the wrong card.
'We owe you nothing!' Paul's righteous anger was compromised by a baser emotion, which registered against the cloth of his robe just below the belt. 'Martha was perfectly within her rights to... Look, I don't even have to justify it! I've just caught you thieving from me!' He saw Demi's bottom lip tremble, her wide, brown eyes turn dewy, as she squirmed in front of him, gorgeous in her blushing guiltiness. His pole was threatening to nudge its way into the open and he countered its spontaneous reaction with a further burst of indignation. 'I should report this to the Police. At the very least I'm going to notify the agency.'
'No, no please!' Demi raised her hands imploringly before her plump, quivering bosom. 'Don't do that, I'd have to go home! I'd never work here again!'
'You don't deserve to!' exclaimed Paul, a fizzing cocktail of anger, disbelief and lust. 'We treated you like family, we trusted you! Then you steal back into the house to thieve from me... It's such a betrayal!' he made for the bedside phone, more to stop his erection from popping out of his robe than anything else, and in her alarm Demi pounced forward, seizing an arm.
'No Paul, please, I beg of you! I don't know what came over me, pleeeeeze...' Her eyes beseeched along with her piteously wailing voice. She had scarcely ever called him 'Paul' before, had not seemed able to bring herself to, but now she was imploring, appealing to the degree of friendship that had developed between them. He could smell her mint-freshened breath and see the beads of perspiration on the soft shelf of her jutting cleavage. The family nanny was pressed against his chest - over her head in trouble and achingly fuckable. The last of his anger resolved itself into hard lust and without ever having planned to, he lifted his hand and touched the skin exposed by her skimpy top. He watched his fingers, as if they belonged to someone else, tracing a path from the curve of her throat, over the soft, damp upper slopes of her breasts. His heartbeat was thumping in his ears, his head was almost swimming, as rational thought was sidelined by desire. All Paul knew was he wanted to see those breasts stripped free of Demi's clingy little top.
'Mis - Mister Rushton... What - What are you doing?' Demi's panic turned to startled, rabbit-like surprise.
Paul looked up at her confused face and did not remove his hand from her bosom. 'You know what I'm doing, Demi,' he said, the blood thundering in his head as he uttered the words. 'This doesn't have to go any further. I'm sure you and I can find a way to put things right.' He could scarcely believe the words that were sounding from his lips, but a kind of wicked resolve was hardening within him along with his dick. Amazement was registering in Demi's pretty face as his meaning dawned on her, but he slipped a finger into the slick fissure between her breasts just to help his words sink fully in.
'But - But Mr Rushton, we can't... You mustn't...' Her cheeks flushed a deeper crimson as she said it. 'It's not right!'
'Neither's robbing your employer,' Paul responded more firmly, and his free hand lifted the phone off its cradle as he did so. 'Now you don't want me to make that call, do you?' He knew at that moment he would go wherever this took him. The tips of his fingers brushed lightly up from Demi's cleavage to stroke her jaw line. They were both panting, he realised, as if short of breath. Demi stared back at him, as if struggling her way through some terrible quandary.
'No, no don't phone,' she responded weakly. 'What do you want me to...?'
'Take your top off.' Paul felt the pulse in his already rigid cock as he said it. He was still holding the receiver. 'Go on.'
Demi appeared to weigh up her options for another moment, then she clutched the damp fabric of her top with both hands and with a swift movement pulled it over her head and free of her upper body. Her hair flounced around her shoulders and her newly exposed breasts bounced gently before him like juice-swollen oranges on the tree. The top she threw to the floor with a dazed, slightly petulant air of 'That what you wanted to see?' Paul's eyes roved freely over her, taking in her slim shoulders and taut stomach, but chiefly lingering on those high, perfect orbs. Her large, rose-brown nipples stood out within pale triangles of bikini-guarded flesh, which contrasted with the rest of her bronzed skin. Their fascinated observer set the phone back on its cradle and reached out with both hands to claim his unexpected prize.
Demi took a sharp little gasp of breath, as Paul seized the globed flesh of her tits, squeezing to sample her firmness. He caught her perplexed look as she was groped so wantonly and felt a flaring of conscience at using her like this on the back of her moment's madness. But then he recalled the seriousness of her crime, how little she deserved to be let off the hook. And here he was doing just that, for the price of a little free time with her lissom young body. Yes, here he was, his shower-time fuck fantasy having suddenly metamorphosed into flesh and blood reality, as if the sheer power of his lust had conjured her out of nothing. Didn't he owe it to every frustrated male who wanked solo in the shower to stick it to this hot little thief? To stuff his manhood right inside her on behalf of their hard, deprived dicks? Fucking right he did. He tightened his hold and kneaded the two handfuls of supple tit-flesh until their owner moaned.
'God, your breasts are beautiful,' he breathed, squeezing the ripe fruit to further accentuate Demi's big nipples. He sucked on them in turn, sucked their rubber hardness right into his mouth, so that she cried out a little each time. Then he rubbed his thumbs over the moistened nubs till they were perfectly erect. Responding to the demands of his cock, he dropped to his knees to deal with the rest of her clothing and expose that beautiful body.
Demi was uttering little confused moans above him and clenching her elbows in front of her recently molested tits, as he slid his fingers under the band of her shorts and dragged them free of her hips. Her pubic mound was tucked away between reflexively tightened thighs under a scrap of blue thong. He paused one reverential, poker-stiff moment before her teen sanctum, then he tugged the panties all the way down past her knees, letting them drop to her ankles, and gazed on the pale strand of tan-line that matched her breasts and the neat strip of trimmed, dark thatch leading down between her thighs. The faintest tang of musky female scent was in his nostrils and, grabbing her shapely ass with both hands, he buried his mouth and nose between her legs, tongue searching.
Demi gave a frightened squeal and threatened to topple over, as he writhed between her soft labia into the sweetness beyond. Finding nothing else to support her she grabbed the back of Paul's head, inadvertently pulling him tighter against her surprised cunt. His tongue burrowed further into the folds of her deliciously moistening flesh, then he searched upwards and found the fleshy little nodule of her clitoris. It felt suddenly like she was melting into his face, that her body's instinctive apprehension was dissolving into semi-acceptance. He lapped his tongue over her enlarging bud some further moments, as her little starts and cries subsided into what sounded like a long, lip-biting moan. Then encouraged by her response he rose to his feet, pulled her naked body to him and kissed her mouth, long and deep. Her lips and tongue moulded into union with his, but her hands wafted vaguely around his head and shoulders, as if she could not make that final submission to her unexpected fate.
Paul eased his lips from hers and stared at her face in its heat and confusion. 'Get down on your knees.' The instruction was gentle and he stroked her cheek lightly as he gave it, but she seemed to comprehend how desperately he wanted her mouth on his sex. She lowered herself meekly to the floor without a word of objection, as he opened his bathrobe. It fell away from his body and he stood naked and proudly erect before her. She knelt, staring at his arousal, her fingers fluttering around the head and shaft, as if she could not quite believe that her avuncular ex-employer had a cock that got hard, one that got hard for her. 'Go on, sweetheart,' he told her softly, feeling her hot breath on the taut skin of his glans. 'Show me what you know.'
Paul's breath was still, as she parted her full lips and enclosed them about the swollen bulb of his prick. For the first time in over six months he felt the warmth and wetness of a woman's mouth around his cock; he scarcely cared that it was not his wife's. Demi stared up at him, pretty mouth stretched in a wide exclamation about his thickened shaft, eyes wide pools of disbelief at what she was having to do. His fingers idly teased her black hair and he nodded to her in encouragement. She gripped his pelvis with soft hands and sucked him rhythmically, her tongue tracing the thick veins on the underside of his rod. 'Oh God, Demi...' His vision was blurring with the ecstasy of sensation. 'You do that really well.' She responded by inhaling more of him inside her mouth and sucking more insistently, having obviously decided to extricate herself from her predicament whatever it took.