My Son's Sitter
“So why horses?”
“Is that even a question?” I scoff back.
I gesture at the brown and white mares ahead of us.
“I mean, just look at them. Really cool and majestic. They’re sensitive and penetrating. They’re the gentlest creatures I know, and the sweetest. The first time I got on a horse, it felt like coming home.”
“So why not work with them, then?” Clayton asks simply, his gaze looking like it just might understand, “you told me you weren’t sure what you want to do. So why not that?”
“You make it sound so easy,” I say, my gaze still not on his. Already, my mind is rushing in with the usual excuses.
“First off, it’s not easy just running a horse farm. How much money would you even make? I don’t think it would be enough to live off of.”
“You think, or you know?” Clayton says, grasping my hand.
“I liked you better when you just wanted to get into my pants,” I whisper, leaning in to give him a kiss on the cheek.
“Good point,” Clayton says, his hand snaking further up my thigh, “your wish is my command.”
“Clayton!” I squeal, squirming away.
He scooches over so that we’re right next to each other. Throwing his arms around me, he whispers in my ear, “Don’t pretend that you don’t like it.”
A coil of unwilling pleasure clutches me. At that moment, of course, the horse-drawn carriage rolls to a halt. After thanking the man, Clayton grabs me by the hand.
“There’s something I want you to see.”
The something, as it turns out, is a limo a block or so away.
“You’re kidding me,” I say.
“You really want me to be kidding you today, huh?” Clayton asks, giving me a light push inside and a spanked butt.
“Maybe I just…”
All the words drop out of me. Because Clayton’s fingers have swept as far up my dress as they can go. They are now at my underwear.
“I’ve been wanting to do this all day,” he says in a hoarse voice as he dips his fingers under them. Just sticking his one finger in sends me trembling.
My gaze travels to the partition that’s presumably separating us from the driver.
“What about the…”
Clayton sweeps his hand over my lips as he whispers into my ear, “He’s on an extended break. So now we can do whatever we want.”
The next second my hands are ramming for his dick. They know what they want well enough. He’s wonderfully hard.
But it seems our pelvises are ahead of our hands. They start dry humping each other, shoving our eager hands away. My pussy just wants the feel of that dick and doesn’t care in what capacity. Already, his bulge is gloriously visible through his suede pants. As our pelvises mime out how this will end, our lips tug at each other’s hungrily.
“Oh yes,” I moan as he suddenly rips up the skirt of my dress.
“Oh yes is fucking right,” Clayton growls, as he yanks down my panties.
He shoves himself into me with one slick thrust. My body aches and pounds with it. I’m so perfectly… Filled. Oh yes.
Our bodies grind his dick into me deeper. In and in and in. Then, slowly, painstakingly, he peels himself out. He repeats the motion a few more times, in further, before pulling himself out all the way once more.
“No,” is the breathless word that gurgles out of my throat.
“You’re going to like this,” Clayton declares assuredly as he positions me into onto all fours, like a dog.
Before I can think to protest, he slides himself into me again. This insertion almost makes my pelvis collapse in shocked pleasure. Fan-fucking-tastic. That’s how this feels. This new position sends tremors ratcheting into me.
Clayton reaches around and grasps my breasts under my dress. These he massages and holds as he pumps me. In and out. Deep and deeper.
Until the scream dribbling out of my throat I can’t control, until my pelvis collapses definitively, shaking and trembling.
When I come to, he’s still pumping me, his grunts coming out more heated with every thrust.
“Fucking right.”
He slaps my ass and pumps me harder than ever, reawakening my pussy from the afterglow. Newfound pleasure explodes into me as a second release bowls me down. Oh, yes! He empties himself into me as my orgasm empties itself of itself.
Afterwards, we lie in a tangle of limbs, in Kleenex and woozy words.
“I can’t believe you were a virgin,” Clayton says, his gaze resting on me admiringly.
“Do we have to talk about it?” I ask, looking away uncomfortably.
“Sorry,” Clayton says.
Silence. Then, “but seriously. Sex with you is pretty much better than…”
“Clayton!”
His affectionate hug softens me only slightly. I can’t seem to relax now.
“Whoa, okay,” he says coolly.
Guilt scrapes through me. What’s my problem?
I direct my gaze to the tinted glass window.
Maybe it has to do with that. That right now, everything is tinted by the deception that’s only been growing the more time I spend with Clayton. Maybe I shouldn’t have even gotten into this at the start. But I did. I did, and now there’s something really big I have to tell Clayton. About who I am and how I’m related to Winston.