Page 36 of Castaway Whirlwind
He takes a massive, deep breath in through his nose, his barrel chest puffing out while his eyes flutter shut. “Good, good.” And when they open again, he sets my body on fire with the heat in his eyes.
He’s just a client, the voice in my head repeats as I get changed in the navy blue and gold hall bathroom. The voice grows smaller until it’s all but snuffed out when I finger the slits on the sides that travel up to the tops of my hips. With the thong, it looks like I’m not even wearing underwear, the sides of my thighs and cheeks on full display, the hem hardly longer than the cut-off jean shorts I wore last time.
The fabric glides smoothly across my skin as I walk back to meet Russell. He grips the sides of the butcher block island, his gaze traveling lasciviously up and down my body.
I shift on my feet, my fuzzy slippers tickling my ankles. “Where do you want me to start?”
He licks his lips. “My son is coming to visit next weekend. I’d like to air out the rooms and change the bedsheets in case he brings a friend. Need to refill the soap dispensers, fluff the towels, and all that.”
“I did everything except the sheets last time.” I tilt my head. “With as much as you’re paying me…you didn’t even check, did you? ” It’s amusing how red the tips of his ears turn. Even more amusing is how the color bleeds to his cheeks and down his neck when I ask, “Are you going to watch me this time, Daddy?”
He nods, and I rub my thighs together in anticipation.
Hiding a smile, I start up the curved wooden stairs, my smilegrowing wider with his heavier footsteps trailing behind me not a second later. On the right side of the light gray carpeted landing is the open-air game room with a half-wall balcony overlooking the main living room. Past it is a long hallway with two bedrooms and a larger full bathroom on the left. On the right are two bedrooms with a huge linen closet between them.
As dark as the house is, it makes sense that all the sheets are white, of which Russell has plenty. I heft a large stack of linens, peeking over my shoulder, enjoying the fact that Russell can’t keep his eyes off my butt when he lingers in the doorway of Paul’s bedroom while I strip the king-sized bed.
I know Paul was already in college when Russell built and moved into this house, yet he still has a complete bedroom set up, including his own ensuite bathroom, more furniture, and personal touches like his books, framed photographs, and high school football trophies. It’s an open-ended invitation to move in if he ever needs to.
I smother the prick of envy, pushing it deep down inside my belly as I remake the bed with clean sheets and pillow cases, then tuck the fluffy white comforter in around the sides once done. At the end of the hall, I drop the old bundle of sheets that need to be washed inside the laundry room that’s nearly as big as one of the spare bedrooms.
“One bed down, four more to go,” I say, carrying on to the next room.
Russell doesn’t say a word, much less touch himself, as I repeat the process with the remaining bedrooms upstairs. The smile I’d been carrying fades as I descend the stairs to the first floor and make my way into the primary bedroom. Maybe he’s following me around—watchingme—because he thinksthat’s only whatIwant and isn’t necessarily whathewants. Maybe the heat I read in his eyes was simply whatIwanted to see and wasn’t really there. Maybe last weekend when he touched himself was merely a one-off, and now he’s no longer—disappointingly—interested in exploring theDaddykink with me.
Time to test that theory out.
I flap the sheet out over Russell’s bed, then bend over more than needed as I move to each corner, fitting the corners over the thick mattress, tugging them to smooth out any wrinkles—of which there are none. All it serves is to make my butt shake.
I get exactly the reaction I wanted when Russell moans breathily behind me, “Darlin’.”
I pretend not to hear him and, having saved the far left corner of the mattress for last, I climb onto the middle of the bed on my hands and knees, taking my time as I “struggle” to fit the sheet.
“Oh, darlin’, f—” Russell groans.
I peek around my shoulder, finding his gaze zeroed in on my backside, which my nightgown only partially covers. He moves closer as if I’ve tugged on an invisible leash, his dick hard, leaving an impressive bulge behind the material of his jeans.That’s more like it.
A naughty thrill thrums through my veins when I spread my knees wider for balance, my nightgown riding up higher when I finally hook the sheet over the corner.
Freedom. This is what freedom feels like. Russell may see what we’re doing as more transactional than I do, and it might not ever lead to any real, deep feelings on his end, but at least I have the freedom to tease and explore the boundaries of our strange relationship in a safe setting. Which is why I say, “Isthere anything else you want me to do, Daddy?”
* * *
Russell
I tried to be a good man. Keep my hands to myself instead of acting like a pervert. But there’s no helping it, not with pretty little Layla on her hands and knees on our bed, wearing the nightgown I bought for her and those adorable yet sexy slippers, the thin strip of thong fabric taut against her pussy lips. I unbutton and unzip my jeans as I stumble forward, my knees knocking against the wooden bed frame, and take my cock in hand.
“Shoulders on the mattress, darlin’.” When she complies, I have to forcibly hold myself back from leaping onto the bed and mounting her like an animal. “Good girl,” I say, my balls drawing up. “You make Daddy so hard.”
I tighten my fist on my shaft, working it up and down at a slower pace so I don’t cum too soon as I stare at her pussy, almost in disbelief as the fabric darkens.Is she wet? Surely not. I must be seeing things.But just to be sure…
“Are you wet for me, darlin’?”
She caresses her inner thighs with one hand, and I squeeze theFout of my dick so I don’t nut when her fingertips skim the fabric. She rocks her hips against her hand. “Yes, Daddy.”
“Oh f—come closer. Closer. Good girl,” I moan when she wiggles toward me, her slippers hanging off the edge, shoulders still flat on the mattress with her bottom in the air. “Now rock your hips again, back and forth as if—”as ifI’m making love to you from behind.
Jacking my cock faster, I match the tempo she sets. Though I’m not allowed to touch her, I can almost pretend I’m sliding in and out of her with each repeat. I yank my T-shirt off, angling my cock to cum on my stomach, and at the very last moment, I lift a knee on the mattress between hers, press my cock against her thong, and cum with a guttural groan.
