Sophia's Choice Pt. 04

NINE

As it happened, Peter never got to meet Ulf, since, unbeknownst to Sophia, he'd made a last-minute arrangement with his friends to play golf on Saturday morning, based on the forecast for the weekend, which was for milder weather. He was terribly apologetic about this when her returned on Friday evening, and was amazed that Sophia took his oversight in such good part. He ascribed her good mood to the shelving that had been put up during the day, congratulating Sophia on finding someone who could work so skilfully - and for free!

For Ulf, on the other hand, his liaison with Sophia proved terminal to his relationship with Petsi. His big mistake - men always make them - was to dump his work clothes in the washing basket rather than wash them immediately. When Petsi got back from Northamptonshire on Sunday evening, could smell the scent almost as soon as she entered the utility room. As chance would have it, she had used the same perfume herself before she had the relationship with Maja, who didn't approve of cosmetics, and had seen it in Sophia's bathroom when she'd been doing the cleaning. She had sent Ulf packing that very night - feeling not lonely or lost when the deed had been done, but free and unburdened.

It was Peter who learned that Ulf was no longer on the scene when he chanced to be chatting with Petsi in Christmas week about her plans for the festival. When she told him that she was now single again, his heart did a cartwheel. What better way to get to know her better than by having her stay with them over the holiday period. He floated the idea with her and she seemed genuinely pleased to have been asked. He told her he'd run the idea past his wife, but didn't envisage there'd be a problem. He knew that the children would be delighted to have their new best friend with them, as they opened their presents and generally had the time of their life.

And so it happened that Petsi shared the joy of Christmas with the Collins family, growing closer to the children in the process, as well as to their father. Their mother, on the other hand, was still a pain in the ass, making use of every opportunity to spend time with her, not above such tactics as ambushing her in the corridor when she could hear her coming, until it got to the stage that Petsi would walk barefooted to ensure that no trace of her footfall could be perceived by the lady of the house.

A couple of weeks passed. It was a cold, crisp Saturday morning and the sun was shining. There wasn't a cloud in the sky. The children - still on their school holidays - were spending the day and the night with friends, and Sophia had taken the train to Exeter to be with her mother, who had suffered a minor stroke. She was due back on Sunday evening, and might spend a couple more days in Devon if her mother's condition didn't improve. Peter performed a few household chores, such as fixing a dripping tap in the upstairs bathroom and attending to a window in the guest room which didn't shut properly, while Petsi, dressed in an oversized woollen shirt and baggy military fatigue type trousers, worked through the list that Sophia had left for her before she departed.

Peter had a dinner that evening - a work thing he'd much rather not attend. To make matters worse, it was a black tie event - the sort of function he detested. He'd thought of crying off sick, but that seemed such a lame thing to do that he'd steeled himself to go ahead with it. He would leave at the earliest possible opportunity, making use of his wife's absence from home to say he needed to relieve the babysitter.

Petsi made some lunch for Peter, which they ate together. She noticed that he wasn't his normal self and he told her about the dinner he had to attend, when he'd much rather be at home. There was nothing particular in his voice or his manner to encourage her, but Petsi felt pleased nonetheless that he would prefer to be at home, and with her, than with his work colleagues.

Around six thirty that evening, after spending the afternoon in the garden until it got dark, Peter had a quick shower. He got his new dress shirt out of the wardrobe and fished his favourite pair of chain cufflinks out of the box where he kept his various accessories. After putting on a pair of boxers, he put the shirt on and started to fix the cufflinks in place. He found this difficult because the slits through which they were meant to go were tight and narrow and seemingly gummed up with starch. He heard Petsi moving about on the landing and called out to her.

When she came in, the first thing Peter noticed was that she had also changed. In place of the frumpy clothes she had been wearing, she had on a light cotton dress with a floral pattern. It was the sort of thing you wore in summer, Peter thought. But, then again, with the central heating on, temperatures indoors were hardly cold. She had also done something with her hair. Peter couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it made her look more radiant than ever. (She had in fact put a wave in it and was wearing it in a Veronica Lake peekaboo style.)

'Yes, Peter,' she spoke softly, almost sultrily, as she walked up to him.

'Um, yes, I was having a spot of trouble with these cufflinks. I wondered if you could help.'

'Of course,' she said, taking one cufflink out of his hand and raising his arm so she could better access his cuff.

'Is it a new shirt?' she asked him, so close he could smell the fragrance of her conditioner.

'It is,' responded Peter, painfully aware that, unbidden, his penis was swelling fast.

'I need to get something sharp,' said Petsi. 'Do you have a pair of nail scissors?'

'There are some in the bathroom,' Peter replied with some difficulty to his au pair, who already knew where they were.

Peter knew that while she was off getting the scissors, he really ought to put his trousers on. Instead, he went to a drawer and pretended to pick out a bow tie. She returned quickly with the scissors and took his arm in her hand, raising it once more so she could pierce a hole in the slit. Having successfully dealt with one sleeve, she moved to the other - Peter this time raising his arm so she would have both hands free to do the necessary. She opened the slit and stood in front of him, still holding the scissors. Then, taking the cufflinks from Peter, she slotted them in.

'Is there anything else I can do for you?' she said seductively, her eyes looking up into his from under her peekaboo curl.

'I don't think so,' he replied, without much conviction.

'I am free and single again,' she said, standing no more than a foot from him.

Petsi knew that Peter's cock was rampant. She sensed it rather than saw it. But the reality was no less certain for that. She also knew he was ripe for the plucking, but she wanted to make him crazy for her. She knew he was a gentleman; she also knew that ultimately he was only a man, with uncontrollable urges and tiny reservoirs of self-control. He attempted to make conversation, even though his mind wasn't on the job.

'You and Ulf are no longer an item then?' he said with forced breeziness.

'He was fucking about,' she replied, watching him carefully for his reaction to her profanity.

'I'm sorry to hear that,' he said, with his best attempt at sincerity.

'He was fucking your wife!'

After dropping the bombshell, Petsi wondered if she had acted unwisely. Maybe he wouldn't believe her. Maybe he would think she was provoking him into a revenge fuck.

'That day when he built the shelves?' asked Peter.

'Yes. I'm sorry. I didn't know she was planning anything. Otherwise, I would have done something.'

'It's you I feel sorry for. You're in a foreign country. You had a companion; now you've lost him.'

'I'm better off without him. He was probably fucking other women. He was so stupid or he just couldn't give a damn - he left his work clothes lying about all weekend and I smelt your wife's perfume on them when I got back from my aunt. He admitted everything.'

'I see. Well, yes, then you are probably better off without him. My wife can be, you know, I think they call it a cougar. I guess I've grown used to it.'

'She touches me sometimes when I'm alone in the house with her, or comes up behind me suddenly when I'm not expecting it. She knows I'm not interested.'

Here, as we have had cause to understand, Petsi was being a little less than honest, but the last thing she wanted to do now was plant ideas of her making out with his wife in Peter's mind.

'Look, if you feel you need to leave, then you must,' said Peter. 'There will be no trouble.'

'But I don't want to leave. I have grown too attached to the children. And to their father.'

Having made this declaration of how she felt, Petsi decided it was time to make her move. Standing on tiptoes, she kissed Peter on the lips. He didn't kiss her back immediately, preferring to see what her next move would be. It was to take his cufflinks off.

'Now we know they fit, we don't need them any more, do we?' she said with a coquettish air.

'I suppose not,' said her employer.

Once they were off, she started to unbutton his shirt. Peter winced as he felt her fingernails graze his skin as she worked her was down his torso. Presently, only the final button remained. It stood adjacent to his jutting cock. It would be difficult for Petsi to get his shirt fully unbuttoned without also touching his member. She didn't try very hard to avoid it, moving her fingers deftly from button to cock as if she were crossing a stream and hopping from one stepping stone to another. Peter groaned, as her fingers probed his bulge and sought out his helmet. Petsi could feel the growing area of stickiness around his helmet and gently squeezed its tip to release more of his pre-cum.

Petsi undid the single button that stood sentinel at the front of Peter's light blue boxers, reached in and with some difficulty extracted his penis, bending it against the grain and causing him to experience a sensation that veered between agony and ecstasy. Once it was free, it celebrated by jerking wildly, the motion only being stopped by the application of Petsi's mouth, which engulfed it like a basking shark hunting for krill. For a second, Peter was in mortal terror that he was going to ejaculate into Petsi's mouth. To his great relief, the moment passed and he was able to recover at least a modicum of his equilibrium and retain his dignity.

He couldn't believe the change that had come over his helper: she was like Jekyll and Hyde. The power with which she was working his penis was simply awesome. Peter couldn't remember anything like it. Maybe Nyala came close, he thought. But Petsi took it to another level, and all without deepthroating him in the classical sense. Basically, she combined high speed with comprehensive coverage. One minute, she would be slurping on the first two or three inches of his cock as if it were an iced lolly that was in danger of melting on a hot summer's day, using a combination of lips, tongue and even teeth, the last named being used lightly, sparingly and to incredibly erotic effect. The next she would be licking his balls, combining the same delicacy of touch with attention to detail. And then she would be at the base of his shaft, intermingling the light touch of her fingers with the fervent ferocity of her tongue - and once more, those incredible teeth.

The upshot of all this attention was of course that Peter, try as he might, was unable to hold out for long. He wasn't generally very vocal in his lovemaking, but the exception, as they say, proves the rule. As soon as he knew he had no chance of holding back his orgasm, he gave vent to the emotions that had been pent up for so long, to the desire that had been simmering below the surface from the moment he first set his eyes on her.

'Oh, god, how I wanted this!' he cried.

With a voice filled with emotion, he added, 'How I have wanted you, Petsi! You won't believe it.'

And then he came, flooding the mouth that had just given him so much pleasure with its just reward.

TEN

Peter was hungry for more of Petsi - a feeling that was reciprocated by the au pair. He unzipped her dress and helped her out of it before placing it over the back of a chair. With something of the excitement of a schoolboy, he then unhooked her white bra and tossed it towards the same chair. It fell short, but neither of them cared. Her breasts were larger than he had imagined, the shape of green pumpkins. Her areolas were tiny, only twice the diameter of the nipples that rose above them. Their colour depended on the light and the angle at which you viewed them - sometimes pink and sometimes brown. In their resting state, the nipples were not tall, but Peter hoped they would at least double in size once he got to work on them, which was his very next task.

Or his next but one. First, he reminded himself of his obligation to be a gentleman, drawing Petsi into a kiss - another department in which the busty Swede proved herself to be extremely adept. She favoured the use of a lot of tongue, which was absolutely fine by Peter, especially as Sophia had never been a big 'tonsil hockey' type of kisser. Well, not with him, anyway, he thought with a laugh. Her hands were definitely of the roving type too, moving in rapid succession from his face to the back of his head, his back, his buttocks and finally his penis. Even before her hands reached it, it was hard again, but after they started to rub it and squeeze it, it regained its full stature.

Petsi took this as a signal that it was time for Peter to penetrate her, which she communicated to him in her own inimitable style by telling him she wanted him to fuck her hard. Peter was, to be frank, a little disappointed, as he had been hoping to lick her out while her pussy was still in pristine condition, before it had been drenched in his cum. On the other hand, it was fun to be led by his helper and sometimes, anyway, the best things in sex, as in life, came in unexpected ways. He did at least get the pleasure of pulling down her panties before they got onto the bed hand in hand.

But what a mistake that was! It was so damn beautiful that all of Peter's guff about the best things in life flew out of the window. He just had to have it and have it now. To be honest, Petsi didn't put up much resistance as he spread her legs and moved into position to eat her out.

'My god?' thought Peter. 'Where to begin?'

'Fuck the civilities!' he told himself. 'I'm diving right into the deep end.'

With a long sweep of his tongue, he traversed the length of her opening, which was pink and luscious and in pristine, almost virginal, condition. Petsi let out a whimper, and told Peter (rather unnecessarily) not to stop. He continued to lave her outer parts with passion, delighting in the incredible taste he was encountering. He went further in, where the taste was perhaps a little saltier, but the saltiness was offset by a more abundant supply of fluids. Lifting Petsi's legs, he got her to hold them up by placing her hands around her ankles. With much better access to her vagina, he drove his tongue in a deep as it would go, eliciting a cry from his new lover. It only took a few more strokes before she came in a violent orgasm.

Making sure she kept the same position, he moved his penis up and drove it deep inside her. This time, she screamed out, telling Peter not to stop but to fuck her senseless. This wasn't at all what Peter had planned. He had made a solemn promise to himself that he would make love to Petsi slowly, on his side - his front pressing against her back - and yet now here he was fucking her as if there would be no tomorrow and about to shoot his load inside her before she'd had the chance to properly enjoy it. Or so he thought...

But Petsi was enjoying it just fine, having fantasised many times about Peter entering her bedroom at night, pulling her out of bed, bending her over her dressing table and fucking her like an animal from behind. God knows how, but Peter managed to delay things, though he didn't slow down an iota, pumping her desperately and grunting like Maria Sharapova. Petsi too was unstinting in her vocal contributions, turning the air blue with Anglo-Saxon epithets. Somehow, they managed to enter a kind of sexual limbo from which no escape was permissible. It was as if by willing each other not to release the primal forces that were locked below the surface, they were able to defy the natural order. But nature always has the last word, of course, and it wasn't that long before they lost all control and sealed their union with a bang.

While they were lying on the bed in post-coital bliss, Peter took the opportunity to ask Petsi if she had dreamt about having sex with him. She seemed surprised at the question, displaying her usual candour to tell him that of course she had. Peter admitted to having had the same thoughts about her, especially when she left the house at the weekend. How much he had envied Ulf for having her all to himself! Petsi winced at the mention of her unfaithful ex's name, but was delighted at the thought of Peter lusting after her.

Peter then asked her if she had fantasised about having sex with his wife. Petsi bridled instantly, denying the thought had ever crossed her mind. 'The lady doth protest too much,' Peter thought, his intuition telling him that Petsi was no stranger to Sapphic love.

'Are you being quite honest with me, Petsi? I think we deserve that from each other, don't you?'

'Oh, Peter, but she is so creepy around me. I've told you that already.'

'Yes, but you haven't told me if you find her attractive. Many women do.'

'Peter, why are you talking to me like this? Do you want to push me into her arms?'

'Not at all, Petsi. But I sense that you are not being honest, and that could prove to be a big hindrance to our relationship. Don't you see?'

'Do you want me to make love to your wife? Is that it?'

'It's not what I want, my dearest, it is what you want.'

Seeing that Petsi didn't answer, Peter decided to drive home his advantage.

'I wouldn't be upset if you told me you desired her. It wouldn't change our relationship at all. In fact, it would make it stronger because I would know that you were not denying yourself what you wanted, and what you deserved.'

'Sometimes, when I am lying in bed,' Petsi spoke very softly, as if she was worried Sophia might overhear. 'Sometimes, I think about her.'

'Do your fingers go to your pussy, Petsi?'

'Sometimes, yes.'

'What is she doing to you? She is taking the initiative, right?'

'She comes up behind me when I am loading clothes into the washing machine. I pretend not to notice her but actually I know it is her. I bend down more than necessary to put the clothes in. I am wearing a short skirt and that day I am wearing no panties. She doesn't say anything, but just slips a finger inside me. She speaks now to tell me off for not wearing panties and for being so wet. In response, I bend even lower, hoping that she will replace her finger with her tongue. My wish comes true and I come almost as soon as her tongue touches my pussy.'

'I want to thank you for being so honest with me, Petsi. You feel better now, don't you?'

'Yes, and I want you to take me on the kitchen table. I have dreamt about that so many times.'

After Peter had made a quick call to one of his colleagues to cry off the function owing to a bout of food-poisoning, they slipped bathrobes on and headed downstairs. As soon as they got there, even before Peter had the chance to get a drink from the fridge, Petsi had disrobed and taken up a lewd position near the edge of the kitchen table with the palms of her hands on the table behind her and her legs wide apart. Peter took one look at the Swedish beauty spreading herself for him and promptly forgot all about refreshments.