by Jamie Knight
“I-I thought you went to prison.”
“I was supposed to. The prosecution was asking for thirty years. My parents used their influence and money. They got me exiled to England instead.”
“I head Australia is more usual,” I blurted before I could stop myself.
“Funny,” Dean said, actually seeming to take it with good humor.
“So, you were still…in exile when Simone died?”
“Yeah.”
“Because you tried to strike a blow… to the ego of those in control.”
“That's about the size of it,” Dean said with an embarrassed shrug.
We looked at each other. His eyes were so deep at that moment. I could see a few tiny flecks of amber in them, like pieces of glitter that caught the light.
Dean’s lips were thin, but they looked soft, pink, warm. He was holding his breath, I could tell.
Somehow, despite the space between us, I could feel the warmth of the big man’s body. Something about it screamed his pain. It was in the posture of his tall frame, the way he glanced back and forth to my eyes, and the subtle quiver of his lips.
It wasn’t a choice. My body pulled to his. My lips pressed hard to his mouth, my head back as I reached up to wrap my arms around Dean’s big, broad shoulders.
I was trying to kiss his sadness away. The first time, at least.
Then I went in for another, Dean replying in kind. We opened our mouths at the same time. Before I knew it, I was on my back on the table, pulling down my satin panties as we kissed passionately.
It was Dean who finally got my panties off, but me who pulled up my dress, unveiling my smooth, pink pussy. My boss sat back into his chair, pulling me to him gently by my hips. I thought he might dive right in, mistaking eating pussy for a pie-eating contest. He surprised me, in the best possible way, by running his tongue softly along my tender pussy lips.
I covered my mouth with my hand to keep from moaning out loud, not wanting Jessica to hear us. I used my other hand to gently stroke his hair as he pleasured me in a way I had never experienced before.
Dean kept going, licking me lightly from bottom to top, working me up into a frenzy. Gently slipping a finger inside me, he worked my pussy. First soft and then harder, spiraling his tongue in a hard circular motion on the upper half, including my clit.
I came really hard, vibrating against his mouth. Dean switched from hard licks to soft kisses as I started to climax. I slid down off the end of the table, landing on Dean's lap in such a way that I was straddling him. He put his arms around me and started kissing my neck.
Suddenly I could feel his rapidly hardening cock pressing against my bare pussy through his slacks. Seized by uncertainly, I climbed down off of him, smoothing down my dress.
“I'm sorry, I-I have to go,” I stammered.
Picking up my panties off the floor, not bothering to put them back on, I did my best not to break into a run as I left the dining room to go and take a shower before rousing Jessica for her afternoon playtime.
I didn’t want Dean to know I was a virgin.
Chapter Seven - Dean
It seemed like a dream. I might have even thought it was had it happened before I went to sleep. Becky laying on the table, panties off, legs wide, stroking my hair as I licked her to orgasm. And what an orgasm! It could have partly been down to the acoustics in the gigantic dining hall, but I had never heard a woman cum like that before.
I was still trying to figure it out that evening. Becky and I had been at absolute loggerheads ever since she first came into my life. I'd always thought the nanny was hot but couldn't stand the way she treated me like I knew nothing. To be fair, I actually didn't know anything, but Becky could have been nicer about it.
It was more than possible that her primary concern was Jessica. She had been hired as a nanny after all, and Jess was just a kid and an orphan at that.
I was fucking it up.
Suddenly, I understood that what had seemed like her lousy attitude and total lack of respect for me. It wasn't really about me. Or Becky really. The only one who really mattered in the situation was Jessica. Not that Becky and I were worthless. Just that our issues, both personal and with each other, came a distant third to the confused little girl who had just lost her mother.
I felt myself warning considerably to Becky, seeing her actions in a far more positive light. I knew I had been an asshole and had a lot of making up to do but felt a lot more optimistic, at least for the immediate future, while we were all stuck together on indefinite quarantine.
That still didn't explain what had happened at lunch. The steak I understood. Becky and I were trying to start again and put the mistakes of the past, mostly mine, behind us. Even the kiss made sense. Becky was actually really sensitive and empathized with my sadness. That much I could tell. She was trying to kiss the pain away. Which sometimes worked, particularly with emotional pain. It was what had come next that was so perplexing. Not only eating her pussy at the table but her quick exit after.
Maybe she was confused as I was. Though it wasn't like I was complaining. The whole thing had been consensual, if rather spontaneous, so there was no guilt there. And her pussy really was beautiful and had tasted really good, with a gentle note of genuine sweetness I had never tasted before. Almost like a delicious, natural ice cream.
Unbidden, I started imagining that sweet, delicious flavor blended with others. Whipped cream to start. Then strawberry. Then apple. My cock was getting hard, and my mouth started to water just considering the possibility. I may not fully understand how it had happened, but one thing was for sure. Should the opportunity arise again, I was definitely interested — hell, I was eager for a second helping.
Becky passed by the office then, because of course, she did. She was back in her usual tight clothes, her dark hair back up in her signature ponytail, bringing a glass of juice for Jessica in her playroom. Apparently, the invisible tea wasn't quite enough.
We caught each other's eye as she passed. I was a bit worried about how she might react. That she might be sad or evasive. Becky was a bit embarrassed, that much was evident by the way she blushed, but she also didn't look away, giving me a gentle smile. I returned the sentiment feeling much the same way, and then we both went about our business as though nothing had happened.
Though something had happened, I was starting to feel a real connection with the nanny I had once unfairly written off as little more than a controlling bitch. What was more, because of her, I had discovered why I was avoiding my poor little niece. Jessica reminded me too much of Simone. The pain of my sister's sudden, violent death being something I had yet to really deal with. I was unintentionally punishing her basically for being born, which was deeply fucked up on all kinds of levels. I had to make it right and connect with my niece if that was still possible.
Struck by a kind of inspiration that came up every so often, I started planning a sort of family game night for the following weekend. True, only Jess and I were actually related, but it was more about the spirit of the thing, and the game nights we would have as a kid were some of the few happy childhood memories I had.
Getting out a draft pad and a ten-thousand-dollar vintage fountain pen, a graduation present from Simone—I suspect she was trying to be ironic. I started making out a list of all the games that I knew I had in the house. Many of them close to family heirlooms.
Battle Ship, Clue, Trivial Pursuit, Twister.
I stopped at the last one, considering what it might be like to be all tangled up and intimate with Becky, her firm, warm body pressed up against me.
Yum.
Coming back to reality, I decided to leave the game on the list before going back through my mental archive jotting out every game I could recall, ending with the first edition Spirit Board from 1891. It was bought by my paternal grandmother, who was a bit of a Spiritualist back when it went through a minor boom in the Victorian era. Another black sheep of the Devon f
amily. I think I would have liked her.
The list made, I picked the ones I thought would be the most fun for all of us and set about searching the massive house, which had been in my family since 1720, based on an Abbey-style estate back in Devon England, to find them. I was making my way back through the living room with the pile of boxes when Jess came running through giggling, Becky in hot pursuit.
Unable to avoid or change course, Jess ran right into me, bouncing off my leg and onto her bottom, looking more surprised than anything.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” I asked, putting the pile of games down on a nearby table and scooping up my little niece.
“Owie,” she said more as a matter of fact than an expression of pain.
I kissed her on the cheek, and she giggled, sounding so much like her mother, my heart broke a little. But it also warmed. Rather than seeing Jess as a reminder of what I had lost, I recognized her for what she was. A little bit of Simone that I still had with me.
“Are you crying, Uncle Dean?” Jessica asked as I held her close.
“No, sweetheart,” I said.
I wasn't, I wanted to. Everything in me screamed to just let it out and open the flood gates, but I persevered, showing a near Vulcan level of emotional control. I realized then that repressing wasn't always healthy.
“What are the games about, Dean?” Becky asked, going through the boxes.
“I thought I would take Saturday off and we could have a game day.”
“Yay!” Jessica enthused.
“Really?” Becky asked, more surprised than sarcastic.
I smiled at her, delighted when her cheeks turned pink in a slight blush. Things were changing, in a good way.
Chapter Eight - Becky
I could hardly believe the change. I had heard of on-a-dime conversions but had never seen such a thing playing out in front of me. Seemingly overnight, Dean went from cold and disinterested, distracting himself with work while still thinking he had a right to be an authority figure to really involved with his little niece.
He still worked but much more regular hours, limiting himself to six or seven hours a day at most, coming out and eating meals with us like clockwork. He also seemed to show genuine interest in everything Jessica had to say.
My boss was also really different with me. No longer standoffish and rude, Dean had become sweet, attentive and, honestly, really gentle. Often asking if there was anything he could do to help. I started to think that the attention he showed that day at lunch was not a spur of the moment thing. If I was honest, I was beginning to feel the same. And not just because he ate my pussy so damn good!
Since Dean’s apparently epiphany after his confession, he showed a completely different side of himself. One I quickly realized that I could come to deeply love, given time. There was a bit of an age difference, Dean being a full decade older than me. Not to mention the slight cultural differences, Dean spending most of his twenties in England and his entire life in a social strata I couldn't really even imagine. I had an idea, based mostly on rumor and second-hand accounts but realized that I really had no idea what it was like or what he might have been through. Especially after he got in trouble. I had never really felt bad for the rich. Assuming that they had everything they wanted and could do whatever they felt like. I was quickly beginning to reassess this notion. Realizing that while it might be true for some, Dean was, at the very least, an exception to the rule.
We went into the parlor, Dean carrying Jessica, her cheek pressed against his muscular chest. I hadn't really noticed before, but my boss really was in great shape. I followed close behind, carrying the pile of games he had selected. I didn't really feel much of a sense of modesty anymore, Jessica being a little girl and Dean having seen most of what I had anyway. As such, I opted for comfort, wearing just a pair of yoga shorts with a tank top. Truth be told, had it seemed appropriate, I likely would have just gone naked.
I had been raised to be very proud and open with my body, my parents both seeing the human form as a thing of beauty and really just another part of nature. It was so-called “civilization” with all of its, mostly religiously-based, hang-ups that made people feel bad about themselves.
Setting the games down on the coffee table, we sat together on the couch. Jessica sat on Dean's lap, and he let her pick the game we played first. To my surprise, she chose Trivial Pursuit. I wouldn't have really expected her to know what that was. Apparently, she was a bit of a hustler, leaving both Dean and me in her dust, only Dean getting close to catching her. I really did have to wonder if intelligence was genetic. I didn't think of myself as being particularly slow but also really never considered that I might get my ass kicked at a trivia game by a six-year-old. Dean also seemed to be taking his defeat really well.
Because she won, Jessica got to choose again, this time going for the Ouija board that looked like it was an antique.
“Are you sure?” Dean asked, taking it from the pile.
“Yeah, it looks neat!” Jess said.
Dean beamed, kissing her on the cheek. I would later learn the story behind the board and the role it played in a particular segment of Dean's family. Apparently, they weren't all rich snobs.
Turning out the lights and lighting candles set into what looked like an antique candelabra, Dean set the mood nicely. As Jess and I watched, he set up the board, only laying our hands down when indicated. He seemed to be taking the whole thing really seriously.
“Who would you like to contact?” Dean asked.
“Mommy,” Jessica said, more calmly than I might have expected.
“O-okay,” Dean said.
I was really proud of him. He stayed calm and played along, all his attention focused on Jess as we tried to contact Simone. According to the board, she was okay but missed us, Jessica taking the news really well, actually seeming just a little bit happier after.
Turning the lights back on and putting the candelabra back in its trunk, it was time for another game. Looking to lighten the understandably heavy mood a bit, I suggested we play Twister — a ridiculous game if there ever was one.
Jess was still too small to get on the mat, there being too much of a risk of her getting hurt, so instead, she was given the vital job of operating the selector chart and calling out the orders. A task to which she took quite quickly, shouting out the indicated foot and hand positions like a pint-sized drill Sergeant.
It started off innocently enough, Dean and I keeping to our own sides. I had done some gymnastics when I was younger and had gone to college on a scholarship for Math and Ballet, so I was nothing if not flexible. Dean took notice of this. Not seeming to mind at all. Even if I was kind of kicking his ass.
Then it happened. An order was shouted, with surprising conviction, that would require Dean to reach down between my widely spread legs to reach the nearest blue spot. His arm pressing up against my pussy as he did so. I didn't think it was deliberate, but he also didn't seem to really mind. I wondered if he knew how turned-on I was. If he could feel the warmth of my eager pussy through both my shorts and my panties. I tried to check and see if he was hard, but I couldn't quite see from that angle.
The next position required was too demanding, and Dean went down like a ton of bricks. Falling flat onto his back.
“Are you okay?” I asked, helping him up, noting the raging hard-on pressing up against the inside of his fancy suit pants.
There was no denying it, we were really into each other, despite our somewhat bumpy start. Both of us realizing this at about the same time, the rest of game day took on a distinctly flirty tone. Dean's voice having a particular ring when announcing that I had sunk his battleship.
We would also hold hands and steal lustful glances at each other whenever Jessica wasn't looking. It was fun, but I wondered if it was really going anywhere.
Chapter Nine - Dean
Gameday had left Jessica pretty tuckered out — despite her protests to the contrary. Pickin
g her up, I took her to her room to tuck her in. Becky had told me what books Jess liked and filled me in on the going to bed procedure in general.
“Is Becky coming?” Jess asked with a big yawn after the second story was finished.
“Would you like her to?”
I had planned on doing this myself but also understood that Jessica and Becky had built their own relationship. I didn't want to push things too hard.
“She sings to me,” the little girl explained.
Suddenly, I had a flashback to being sick in bed, Simone singing softly to herself as she came down the hall with another bowl of chicken soup and glass of orange juice. It wasn't ridiculous to think that she would have sung to Jessica in the womb, and probably after.
“I'll get her,” I said.
“How’s the little one?” Becky asked as I returned to the couch, greeting me with a soft kiss.
“She wants you?”
“She does?”
“She says you sing to her. I've got a pretty decent baritone, but I don't think that was what she meant.”
“Ah, duty calls, I’ll be back in a jiffy,” Becky said, shaking a leg out of the room, her sweet ass shaking a bit as well. It could have been an accident, but I wasn't entirely convinced.
While the nanny was gone, I popped into the kitchen to get a few things, getting all set up before Becky came back.
“Well, that was easy,” she said, letting her dark hair fall around her shoulders.
“I wore her down for you,” I joked.
“That you did. She was already yawning when I went in.”
“Here's to a team effort,” I said, handing her one of the flutes of ice wine.
“To a team effort,” Becky agreed before we clinked our glasses together.
We both took a drink, Becky draining her entire glass in one go. I probably should have warned her about the risk of brain-freeze.
“Holy crap, that's good!” she said, looking at the flute in wonder.