tagHumor & SatireMistaken Identity Ch. 3

Mistaken Identity Ch. 3


If Sara is perturbed by her partner's unexpected presence at breakfast, she is not showing it.

"When did you get back in town?" she asks nonchalantly.

"Last night," he replies.

"When last night?"

"Does it matter?"

"You didn't come to bed."

"I didn't want to wake you, so I crashed in one of the spare rooms. Anyway, the bedroom door was locked."

"And did you sleep alone?"

"What sort of question is that?" he barks.

"It's a joke, grumblebum. It's just that Mike and some others bunked here after the party. And I had visions of you stumbling in on them."

"Mike's here?"

"It's not like it's the first time he has stayed over," she counters.

"Yeah, but not when I've been away."

"Really?" she says.

He thinks he sees her smirk. Then again, he is looking for the devil in everything.

"Anyway, how was the party this year?" he inquires.

"I wasn't sure about going as the slut, not without my favourite pimp."

"You were OK. I asked Mike to look after you."

"You what?"

"I mean, you know, just keep an eye out. Not to spy on you or anything."

"I can't believe you did that."

"What's the big deal. You made it home in one piece."

"It's a big deal to me."

"I don't know why."

"Well, it puts a different slant on all the extra attention he gave me."

"What kind of attention?"

"The kind that helps a man get lucky."

She leaves him to wrestle with that notion, and heads off for a shower.

* * * * * *

The cool shower proves to be just the tonic she needs. Sara decides to wait awhile, letting the morning air dry her.

Her peace is interrupted when Mike and Toulouse-Lautrec wander into the bathroom, clearly feeling the effects of last night's drinking. They haven't noticed her behind the screen, and she decides to leave it that way. Toulouse heads straight for the toilet pedestal, and noisily pisses into the bowl.

"Geez, I needed that," he says, shaking his limp dick dry. "Now I could eat a horse. Wonder where the girls are?"

"Beats me," says Mike, pushing Toulouse aside so he can get his turn to relieve himself. "My guess is they are still asleep. Forget the horse! I could eat Sara, no worries."

"I don't blame you. I'm sure she doesn't appreciate how gorgeous she is."

"I'd like to explain it to her with this," Mike boasts, grabbing his cock. "What do you think, little mate. Wouldn't you like a go at that arse?"

Sara decides it's just the moment to step from behind the shower screen.

"Morning boys!" she says, casually reaching for her clothes. "You don't look at all well. Would a bit of breakfast help?"

Mike is the first to recover. "I'd kill for some bacon and eggs," he replies, and is caught staring at the magnificent tits in front of him.

"They're called breasts, Mike," Sara teases. "And what about you, Lautrec?"

"I knew that!" comes the reply.

"Good for you," she laughs, pulling on a T-shirt that's just long enough.

"Oh! Breakfast in fifteen minutes," she adds, as she saunters out of the room.

* * * * * *

Sara is surprised by how aroused she has become. It gets worse when she detours to tidy up the spa room. As she rushes uneasily through the task, Lautrec catches up with her.

"I'm going to go, Sara. I just wanted to see if you are OK about last night before I do."

"I'm fine with it, Toulouse-Lautrec."

"Actually it's Charlie."

"Charlie eh? It's good to put a face and a real name to, well, you know! Anyway, it's OK. Things probably worked out for the best."

"Probably, but I just want you to know that doesn't usually happen. In fact it hasn't happen before."

"That's what all the guys say!"

"Seriously, it hasn't. But when you asked did I want to join the others, I-""

"You don't have to explain what happened. They were my tits in the firing line, remember."

"You still could have gone over to the others."

"I know. But the moment had passed."

"And now we'll never know."

"Isn't that the best way to leave it?" she asks, and heads for the door.

"I'll probably die wondering!" he calls after her.

He hears her laugh.

"Can't I have a clue?" he pleads.

He is left with the image of her flicking up the back of the t shirt to flash that wondrous arse.

* * * * * *

While Sara is fixing a belated breakfast for Mike, her partner wanders back into the kitchen.

"I have to call into the office for a while. Do you want me to drop your costume back to the shop?"

"That would be sweet," she says cheerfully. "It's that bag over there."

"What about you Mike? Will I wait and give you a lift home?"

"I'll be fine mate. I reckon the walk will do me good."

"What about the others?"

"I don't know where the nurse is. She disappeared sometime during the night. And Charlie said he had to go."

"Fair enough. Anyway, I'll call around later, to catch up on the gossip."

The threat, implied or real, isn't lost on Sara, who insists on walking him to his car. He struggles to explain why it's parked around the corner.

"You don't have to explain to me," she says. "Just hurry home. Mike's still here. And you know how horny I get after a night out!"

* * * * * *

Finally, Sara has been able to put some of last night behind her. The spa room is tidy, she has caught up with Lautrec-oops, Charlie; and has seen her partner and Mike off.

Shit! The painting!

Sara heads for the loft. It seems darker than usual, and she fumbles against the wall for a light switch, lucky to have her hand outstretched when something hard drives her against the wall. In an instant, she is spun around, and rough hands shove her into the centre of the dark room, where she crashes into a table and chairs.

"Hey!" she protests, just as her arms are grabbed and pulled behind her. She feels a sharp pain as her ankle is kicked sharply, then the other, signaling her to spread her legs wider. Her t shirt is lifted, and a hard cock is drawn up through her moist sex, and finds her butt hole. Immediately it pushes forward, and she struggles, managing to tear one hand free. With it she is able to reach behind, and fend her assailant off. It works for a moment, until he brushes her arm aside. Again he tries, more forceful this time, and again she pushes him away. This time he releases her arms, only to grip her powerfully around the waist, and pull her back onto him. The sharp pain causes her to gasp. Somehow she manages to grab hold of the eager cock, and squeezes, hard enough to make him stop.

An uneasy truce follows. Until she surprises by guiding it lower, where it bullocks into her with ease. The sensation almost sets her off, grateful that the next thrust is a little less violent. So too the ones that follow, expertly driving in and up, sweeping away the ache in her arms and legs from her awkward position. She tries to straighten, but is immediately bent back over. His hands grab her hanging breasts and he changes to short teasing stabs that barely let her warm lips enclose his rounded head. This bastard knows what he is doing, Sara thinks, her desire to feel all of him growing each time her pussy reluctantly feels him fall out. With her hands now free, Sara reaches about for something to balance against, to ease the strain on her body. As she does, he drives in deeply, and joined like that, steers her forward until she feels the back of a chair. Here she crosses her arms across its top, and rests her head on them, now able to fully savour the sensation in her loins before, all too soon, her orgasm joins his. "Fuckin' awesome," says the breathless voice in the dark.

Before she can agree, he has gone.

* * * * * *

By the time he reaches the party hire shop, Sara's partner is desperate for a quick exit. As luck would have it, the counter is unattended. He drops the bag off, and turns to leave. But Ted the Talker spots him.

"You're in a hurry!"

"Unfortunately. I've got to go to work."

"On a weekend. What a shame. Still, a man's got to work. You know, put food on the table. Keep the little woman happy, before someone else does. Then again, I'm working too. But I bet most of the town is still recovering from last night."

"Not me. I didn't go to the party."

"Didn't you? That's the thing about this business. I could make a fortune this time of the year with what I know about the party. Luckily, I'm not a talker."

They are hardly reassuring words.

To speed things up, Sara's partner slides the bag along the counter towards Ted the Talker.

"What have we here?" Ted asks.

"I'm just dropping it off for Sara."

"Sara? Sara? Oh, Sara! Now I remember."

Ted the Talker reaches into the bag and pulls out the nurse's uniform. Sara's partner likes what he sees.

"That's odd!" Ted says. He reaches in again, and pulls out the lycra.

"That's more like it." He looks it over, sniffs at it, and looks once more. "Hardly been worn," he concludes. "It can go straight here."

With that, he lovingly drapes it on a store mannequin. The mannequin beside it is dressed as Toulouse-Lautrec. Ted steps back to admire his handiwork.

"They make a nice couple, don't you think?" he says, somewhat suggestively.

"No, I bloody don't!"

It's little wonder Sara's partner cops a speeding ticket on his way over to Mike's.

* * * * * *

Sara is laying face down, one leg hooked over her partner's thigh. He lays on his back, silently staring at the ceiling. It's the same scene most nights, right before they sort out any differences and go to sleep.

"Did you catch up with Mike?" she asks.

"I did," he replies. "He had a very interesting story about that nurse."

"Are you going to tell me?"

"Not yet! What about you? Is there something you want to tell me first?"

"There is." Sara takes a deep breath. "Today, in the loft, I had the best fuck of my life."

Her partner thinks for a very long time.

"Why are you telling me this?" he finally asks.

"Because I think we both need to be very honest about why that was."

"It's a deal," he says. "But there is one thing I need to know. How did you know it was me?"

Sara smiles cheekily, and rolls on top of him.

"How do you know I did?"

Which guarantees her the ride of her life- so to speak.

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