Basket Stuffer

by Wylder, Penny

  I know I should be concerned that he came inside of me because I’m not on birth control—there was no need to be after my divorce—but the warm feeling as he fills me up is too good to think about that right now. I’ll worry about it later.

  When he pulls out, our combined juices spill onto the floor and drip down my leg. I stand and he rests his sweaty forehead on my shoulder. We’re both panting and out of breath, spent from the workout. I’d love nothing more than to lay down next to him and bask in the glow of our combined orgasms. But I start to panic about how long we’ve been in here. What if the egg hunt is over and someone comes looking for us? If my dad catches us, I’ll be humiliated. My whole family will be. We know everyone at this church. My dad’s whole social group has ties to this place. It would ruin him. And worst of all, he’ll cut me off before I’m financially prepared to be on my own.

  I hurry and pull up my panties from the floor and cringe at the cold wetness of them against my skin. We’re getting dressed when we hear voices just outside the confessional. Two men talking and I immediately recognize one of those voices as my dad.

  My heart leaps into my throat. My entire body starts to tremble. The other voice is the priest. What if he’s on his way into the confessional box to take my dad’s confession? This can’t be happening! Then I hear another voice that nearly knocks me to my knees. My son. His laughter rings out through the church. His favorite thing to do is play in the confessional booths when the church is empty. I grab for the handle just as it starts to jiggle as Ian tries to come in.

  He complains to my father in his tiny voice that it’s locked, but luckily the priest and my father are too wrapped up in their conversation to pay too much attention to the child in the room. I hold tight to the latch until he gets bored and leaves. I listen as his small feet tip-tap away into the distance.

  I let out a long, slow breath of relief and look at Bernard. He’s sitting, fully clothed now, on the bench, watching me with amusement.

  “Close one,” he says in a quiet voice that only I’m able to hear. He’s so calm and collected, like it wouldn’t matter one bit to him if we were caught. I guess he has no reason to be upset. He doesn’t go to church. He wouldn’t have to face these people every Sunday and have to listen to their gossip.

  The voices of my father and the priest disappear deep into the church corridors and we are left alone again.

  I let out a laugh that expels the leftover fear wound up inside of me. “Too close.”

  “Yeah, that was a close one, but I don’t regret a thing,” he says.

  I can’t help but smile as I wind my hair back into its bun. “I don’t either.”

  We leave the confessional and I double check my hair and dress in the reflection of a dark window to make sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. I walk ahead of Bernard, and it’s awkward, I can feel him staring at my ass. It feels a little like a walk of shame as I head into the church kitchen where brunch is being prepared as the Easter egg hunt comes to an end.

  I part ways with Bernard so it doesn’t look like we walked in together. My parents have a regular table where they sit for Sunday brunch in the middle of the room so they can be the center of attention. I sit down just as they enter the room with my son.

  They don’t seem to notice I’ve been missing, thank God. They talk to their friends and pass the food around while everyone heaps spoonful’s of ambrosia, potato salad, and fried green tomatoes onto their plates. All the while Bernard flirts with me across the room and I sit with a mess of cum and chocolate in my panties.

  7

  Pippa

  The next day after the Easter egg hunt, I’m at home with my family, playing Aliens vs. Robots with my son while cleaning. Cleaning is part of the agreement of my parents letting me stay in their home. I’m not exactly sure why they make me clean considering they still have a cleaning service coming in twice a week. I guess they just want me to earn my keep. I have no problem with that one bit, but I hate they always have to be in the same room while I’m doing it, pointing out everything I’m doing wrong or if I’ve missed a spot.

  My father sits in his oversized chair next to a roaring fire, reading his paper even though it’s nowhere near warm enough to warrant a fire. This spring has been especially warm and there’s no hint of the sunshine giving up anytime soon. He’s always cold and so the rest of us have to deal with the insufferable heat. I’ve already taken off my bra to release some of the heat. I’m only in a dress and panties now. There’s not much else I can take off to get any cooler unless I want to be naked.

  My mother is in her smaller, less obnoxious chair, knitting Ian a sweater he’ll probably grow out of by the time she’s finished. I feel like Cinderella in a ragged dress and slippers while I chase Ian around the house wearing plastic antennas on my head and dusting gloves on my hands. Playing with Ian and cleaning at the same time is the only way I can get anything done. The nanny is only here in the evenings and my parents don’t like a lot of noise at night, so I’m forced to clean during the day when they’re in the middle of all their random hobbies.

  My mind starts to wander and I think that if I’m Cinderella, then maybe there’s a prince out there somewhere waiting to sweep me off my feet. I can’t help but also wonder if maybe that prince might be Bernard …

  No. No. I can’t think that way. It was a one-night stand, nothing more. As amazing as our time in the confessional booth was, I can’t let myself make it out to be anything more than what it was: a quickie between strangers. There’s no one coming to sweep me off my feet. The only sweeping being done around here is by me, with an actual broom.

  “Do you still have that lovely Chanel dress I bought for you a few months ago, Pippa?” my mother asks, not looking up from her project.

  “I do,” I tell her. It’s somewhere in my closet, never worn with the rest of the overpriced dresses she buys me.

  “Oh, good. You can wear it on your date tomorrow night.”

  I stop in the middle of the room, my limbs refusing to move. Ian looks back at me and cries out for me to keep chasing him.

  “My what?” I ask, unsure if I heard her right.

  “Your date with Brock Speldman. Didn’t your father tell you?”

  I look at my dad. He lifts the newspaper higher, hiding behind it. What a coward. He’s really going to set me up on a date and not tell me about it? I’m sure he was probably going to wait until the very last minute when there was no time for me to say no.

  I’ve known Brock Speldman most of my life, but I’ve never really talked to him. Growing up he was into sailing and was on the row team at our private school. We didn’t run with the same crowd but we were always friendly because our fathers had business ties. He was never someone I looked at as a potential boyfriend and I can’t believe my father would set us up without telling me first—but then again, I shouldn’t be surprised. He did the same thing with my ex. I figured that after how that whole mess ended, he would’ve learned his lesson. Apparently not.

  “I’m not going out with Brock Speldman,” I say, trying to mask the resentment in my tone.

  My father drops his paper in his lap and the look waiting for me is tense with authority. I try to pick and choose my battles with my father and this seems like one worth fighting, but I have a feeling it’s one I will lose.

  Damnit. What is taking the woman at the library so long to call me back? I really need that job so I don’t have to deal with this kind of bullshit anymore. If I choose to date, I want to pick the guy on my own without having to worry about being financially cutoff before I’m ready. No one should have this much power over another person.

  “Yes, you are,” my father says. “Do you know how hard it is to find a decent man with a good family to marry a single mother?”

  I start to open my mouth to tell him what a jerk he is, but my mother’s warning tone cuts between us.

  “Jerry,” she says. If even my mom notices that he’s overstepped, it must be bad.
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  Because he actually listens to my mom, he huffs and says, “You’re going. You two have a lot in common. You’ll hit it off just fine.”

  I bite my tongue, tasting a slight metallic tang when I draw blood with my teeth. I know exactly what will happen if I continue to argue. It’ll end up with threats and I will cave anyways.

  Looking at Ian’s happy face as he runs around, my shoulders fall. Brock and I will never be a thing. Ever. I’m not the slightest bit attracted to him. But I also don’t want to get into it with my father right now. I’ll go on the stupid date because I have to and I’ll be polite because I have to, but that’s as far as that will ever go.

  “Fine,” I say.

  “And wear that Chanel dress, love,” my mom says.

  I roll my eyes. “Yes, Mother.”

  “Chase me, Mommy,” Ian cries.

  I chase Ian, and he has just made it to base when the doorbell rings.

  “Go get that will you, Pip?” My father says, his eyes back on his paper. “I hired a handyman from the church to fix the dishwasher. That should be him now”

  I stare at him a moment. First he forces me on a date with someone I don’t want to be with, and now this? Is he trying to press all my meltdown buttons at once? I want to ask him if I look like his maid, but at the moment I do. I take off the gloves and dump them on the coffee table while I go to the front of the house.

  When I open the door, my jaw literally falls open in surprise. Bernard stands there, looking far better than I remember with a slight bit of stubble, jeans that fit his muscular legs in the most amazing way imaginable, and a tool belt around his hips. It looks like the makings of a really good porn, starring myself.

  He smiles wickedly at me, and I have a feeling he’s the one who approached my father about his services. I’m more than a little shocked, and I’m definitely amused. I didn’t get the chance to talk to him after church because my parents were around, and I was bummed that I might not get a second chance with him.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask even though it’s obvious. Nothing else comes to mind and I need to say something.

  “Your dad hired me to fix a leaky dishwasher.” He reaches out and touches the plastic alien antennas still on my head. “It’s a good look for you.”

  I laugh and hurry to take them off. “I was playing with my son.”

  I motion him into the house, and he wipes the bottoms of his boots on the doormat before stepping inside. I can’t help but stare at his butt in those jeans when he walks by. Damn. He looks good. Better than good. The man is a God. Someone seriously needs to make a sculpture of that body so people can worship him hundreds of years from now.

  I’m about to ask him if he approached my father for this job, but then, as if I had summoned him from my thoughts, my father appears. My mouth closes and I cut off any interaction I planned to have with Bernard. The last thing my dad needs to know is that we’re already acquainted. He’ll have questions that I’m not ready to answer.

  Bernard and my father shake hands and they discuss the problem with the dishwasher before my father says, “Pip, show the man to the kitchen.”

  I hunch my shoulders at the demand, feeling like a child. I really do feel like Cinderella in the moment. Instead of a wicked stepmother, I have an overbearing father who threatens to cut me off every chance he gets. If he finds out there’s anything between me and Bernard it will just give him more ammo. Then he’ll really dig into the idea of me and Brock. There’s no way he would be okay with me having anything to do with a handyman even though it’s a good, honest job—not like some of the money transactions my father and his business partners make.

  I have to dance around this and make sure he never finds out that there was ever anything between me and Brock.

  “This way,” I say, making sure to avoid Bernard’s smiling gaze and flirtatious mouth. It would be way too easy to fall victim to those eyes.

  As I follow him, I can feel him staring at my backside. I hate that I’m wearing this tattered dress I only wear to clean the house. It’s matronly and shows none of my curves. Honestly, if he’s looking at my ass the way I looked at his when he first walked through the door, he must be disappointed. I look like someone out of The Handmaid’s Tale.

  I glance back to check, and sure enough, his eyes are glued to my ass. He meets my gaze when he’s caught, and I feel myself blush and I smooth down my hair with my hands. I must look like a wreck. I haven’t done a single thing with myself today.

  “Stop looking at me like that. My father might notice,” I say in a hushed voice.

  “He’s in the other room.”

  “You don’t know my father. He’s everywhere.” I never got away with anything as a teenager. He has a second sense for things like this. Just like when he warned me about not sinning at the church. Somehow he knew I would do something I shouldn’t.

  Once we’re in the kitchen, Bernard leans over the dishwasher, giving it a good once over. He motions me closer with a hook of his finger. “I want to show you the problem.”

  I don’t care what’s wrong with the dishwasher and by the playful smirk on his face, he knows it. But I move closer to him anyway as if there’s a fishing line on the end of his finger and he’s reeling me in.

  Once I’m close enough to feel his breath against my ear, he says, “I can’t stop thinking about that day at the church and the way your sweet pussy tasted on my tongue.”

  I forget to breathe and my hands are shaking. I can feel the telltale wetness between my legs starting to flow with just those simple little words. It’s enough to open the floodgates.

  “I want to taste you again,” he says. “I want to feel your tight pussy wrapped around my cock.”

  Can women get a form of blue balls too? Because right now, I’m so turned on that it’s almost painful and I will definitely need some release after this conversation.

  “You can’t say things like that to me,” I hiss. “My father will hear you.” But there is no conviction behind the words. I’m far too turned on to put any real care into them, even though I really am worried my father will walk in any moment and see the exchange between us. We both seem to struggle to act normal around each other.

  I start to think about his face between my legs, the way he looked up at me while he sucked on my clit with those intense eyes. The orgasms he gave me were nothing short of art. They were magic, and even though I’ve tried to keep the thoughts out of my head, I’ve scarcely thought about anything else since that day. I want another chance with him. This is my one and only opportunity to seal the deal.

  “I can tell you’ve thought about it too,” he says, ignoring my warning.

  “Maybe a little,” I say, unable to keep the bashful smile off my lips.

  He touches my arms and my entire body sprouts with goosebumps. “I want to fuck you again,” he says, his words more breath than sound.

  I hear a sound in the hallway and quickly pull away from him. My heart races in time with my breath and I feel like I might pass out. I decide it’s safer to wait in the other room while he works, but occasionally I take the opportunity to check him out while he’s bent over. No plumber crack here, just a gorgeous, fuckable man who wants to eat my pussy for a second time. How could I possibly say no to that? If only I could find the chance to get him alone, away from the prying ears and eyes of my parents.

  An hour later he comes into the room where I’ve been patiently waiting and thinking about him and that day at the church the whole time.

  “All fixed,” he says. I startle at the sound of his voice next to me. I hadn’t noticed he’d wrapped things up. “I could use hand with these extra parts. Mind helping me out to my truck?” His eyebrow is raised and I can tell he is looking for the same opportunity to be alone with me too. My father wouldn’t protest to me taking parts out to Bernard’s truck. He’s all about me helping out more.

  I lift a bucket of spare parts and follow him out to his truck which is parked in a perfect
blind spot from the house behind a giant sycamore tree.

  Bernard lowers the tailgate of the truck and puts his tools inside. I lift the bucket and place it beside them. The moment I step back, he pulls me against the side of the truck behind the tree and puts his lips against mine in a heated kiss. His teeth graze my lip and he bites down lightly. I whimper into his open mouth. As much as I want to, I can’t fall into this kiss right now. As if sensing my hesitation, he pulls me closer and lets his tongue slide against mine and I moan.

  I should stop now, but I can’t. I just can’t.

  8

  Bernard

  I hold Pippa tight against me and press my lips against hers. I know what she’s going to say. She wants to tell me to stop. Not because she wants me to, but because she doesn’t want her father to catch us.

  I pull away from our kiss just long enough to say, “Relax, I’ll be fast.”

  She giggles and looks up at me with those bright blue eyes that send my head spinning every time she looks at me. “Guys should never brag about being quick.”

  I tickle her side, eliciting a musical laugh from her. She tries to wriggle out of my arms, but as tight as I’m holding her, all she manages to do is rub up against my stiff cock that’s begging for release.

  I wink at her. “What I meant was you’ll be done quick.”

  Her laughter fades and I see the lust in her eyes from my words. She doesn’t try to fight it when I lift her dress and find her panties. I pull them to the side and discover she’s soaking wet. I slide my fingers around the silky wet surface, teasing her by not touching her clit, but dancing around it, fondling the swollen hot folds of skin protecting it.

  She begs me to enter her, a far cry from all that pushing me away and the fear of getting caught. She’s far too gone to resist me now, even with the fear of being discovered.