Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver & Gaelyn]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Dreamweaver on 21-05-2010, 01:30:51</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>21-05-2010, 01:30:51</strong>
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				Seventeen days.<br><br>Seventeen straight days without a day off.&nbsp; Seventeen days of working ten, twelve… Sometimes fifteen hours before he was able to finally escape from his job as the only <em>reliable</em> salesman on staff at Leftwich Appliance.&nbsp; Of course, working for his father in-law was only the genesis of his problems.&nbsp; He was on commission sales, so it didn’t matter how many hours he worked – he only got paid when sales came through, and in the current economy people weren’t rushing out to buy new refrigerators or big-screen televisions.&nbsp; They were worried about other luxuries, like… Well, food – and electricity, among other things.<br><br>John raised a hand and scrubbed it through his short-cropped brown hair, feeling the sheen of perspiration that seemed to hang there after another fourteen hour shift.&nbsp; He wasn’t the only salesman, of course – his worthless brother in-law was also a salesman, but most of the time he spent the mainstay of his time somewhere other than on the sales room floor.&nbsp; It didn’t help much that he was handed all of the corporate sales accounts, thus giving him a guaranteed commission every month even on months (of which there were many) that he wouldn’t show up for a single shift.&nbsp; John despised the fucking worthless prick, as well as every other member of his shister family.<br><br>And his wife?&nbsp; Another one he could just as well see roll off the edge of a cliff in her car.&nbsp; Maybe even in the trunk.<br><br>He didn’t <em>hate</em> her and her family – hate would be a little too harsh a term.&nbsp; <em>Despised with extreme prejudice</em> seemed a bit more fitting, not to mention making him smile as he thought of the phrase.&nbsp; He had been married for three years now, a union which started out wonderfully – marrying into an affluent family of small business owners, with a successful and active wife who had goals and desires.&nbsp; He had thought at the time that it was the perfect image of what he wanted in a relationship, and eventually, a family - right to the point that Rebecca had come home and announced to him that she was pregnant.<br><br>Everything began the gradual change at that point, his wife morphing from the goal-oriented strong woman he’d married to an overbearing control-freak who still intended to rule the world of business, simply by placing all of her burdens on the back of her husband.&nbsp; The nine months of pregnancy weren’t terrible, but it got increasingly difficult to deal with her right up to the point of the birth.&nbsp; Afterward, she changed into what John thought was going to be the perfect wife and mother, taking care of their newborn son lovingly and attentively.&nbsp; That changed in a heartbeat as well, as his wife seemed to become the picture of bipolar rage – going from being loving and caring to being an outright whorish bitch in every way possible.<br><br>It was almost a relief when she announced to him that she was going back to work, and would be taking on the role of International Sales Manager for her company.&nbsp; She would be out of town for days, sometimes weeks at a time, traveling to Europe or Asia or wherever the fuck her company needed to send her to make the sale.&nbsp; So long as she wasn’t there ragging on him, it was all good.&nbsp; The money was nice as well, and afforded him the ability to hire babysitters to care for their son James when he was being controlled by his other leash-holder, the father in-law.<br><br>As for the babysitters, it had taken him some time to find girls that seemed responsible enough to take care of his son while at the same time not being too exorbitantly expensive.&nbsp; He might have the money to afford it, but that didn’t mean he was simply going to throw endless cash at SuperNanny for the care of his son.&nbsp; In the end, what wasn’t spent would go into the bank – and hopefully someday, would lead to a measure of freedom for him.&nbsp; Freedom?&nbsp; Interesting concept, one that he really wasn’t sure encompassed in its’ entirety, yet it stayed paramount in his mind every month when he checked the liquidity of the bank statements.<br><br>Megan was the latest of the girls who had answered his Craigslist ads searching for reliable college-age babysitters in his area, and she seemed to be the most reliable as well – to this point.&nbsp; She was doing well in school, and lived on-campus in one of the dorms.&nbsp; She had a steady boyfriend as well, which seemed to be a plus when it came to maturity levels in the girls he had interviewed for the job.<br><br>Of course, the fact that she was amazingly beautiful was a bonus, as well.&nbsp; Perhaps five foot seven inches tall, with long waves of chocolate brown hair and intense amber eyes matched to a body that was trim and shapely while not being overblown in any one area.&nbsp; She was just about as perfect physically as John could imagine, not supermodel beautiful yet more than enough to turn the head of every man she walked past.&nbsp; If only he was ten years younger – and not married to the bitch of the century.<br><br>Nonetheless, it gave him something pleasant to look at every day when he came home.&nbsp; Increasingly she was there every night, watching over his son from the time he was released from daycare until the time that he got home.&nbsp; His house was on the local bus route, giving her the opportunity to travel straight there after school and watch over James until John arrived home later in the evening.&nbsp; He had even cut her a key, so she wouldn’t need to worry about borrowing his from day to day.&nbsp; The money he paid her – Ten dollars an hour, plus whatever she wanted to eat from the fridge – was helping to pay for her college, covering the money that her scholarship didn’t provide.<br><br>The house was darkened when he pulled into the driveway, and he rotated his head in a slow circle to stretch his neck before keying the ignition on his Jaguar.&nbsp; The engine fell silent, leaving only the soft echo of crickets in the grass to accompany him on his way to the door.&nbsp; James would be fast asleep, and at this hour he would more than likely just leave Megan sleeping on the couch or in the spare bedroom or wherever she might have crashed, if she was sleeping at all.&nbsp; He would take her back home in the morning, on his way to the daycare and to work – and it would leave her at home with an hour or so to prepare for her first class.<br><br>Motion-sensitive lights flickered to life along the path as he walked to the front door, their muted glow illuminating the concrete more than adequately for him to not stumble – not that he would have, considering the trip was a straight line from the edge of the driveway to the front door.&nbsp; The sound of the key in the lock was loud in the silence, and he turned the handle quietly before pushing the door open and into the wood-floored foyer.&nbsp; Chances were that Megan was asleep, and he didn’t want to wake her if it wasn’t necessary.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>22-05-2010, 01:37:30</strong>
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				God, she was being so irresponsible.<br><br>Megan tipped the short, squat glass in front of her,&nbsp; staring down into the amber liquid as it sloshed in her unsteady hand.&nbsp; &nbsp;Drinking on the job was a bad, bad idea, especially when that job was taking care of a child.&nbsp; Drinking was a really, <em>really </em>bad idea when you were using the alcohol to try to blur the ache of fractured dreams and a kick to foolish pride.<br><br>It's not like she was hammered, she reasoned.&nbsp; By her calculations she'd only had a little over a shot...or maybe two?... of the really-good-quality Scotch from the Lassiter's liquor cabinet.&nbsp; She was such a&nbsp; lightweight that she was already unsteady on her feet.&nbsp; &nbsp;It's why she was sitting on the floor, she grinned into the glass.&nbsp; She might have been a fool about love; at least she was smarter about liquor. <br><br>And hey, she was sipping it.&nbsp; Steadily, maybe, but slowly.&nbsp; This one glass had lasted her...she squinted at the clock, did a little mental math.&nbsp; A half hour.&nbsp; That was okay, right?&nbsp; &nbsp;She honestly had no clue.&nbsp; Drinking wasn't really her thing; she didn't like the way alcohol dragged through her blood stream, weighed down her limbs.&nbsp; Someone had once told her she was supposed to drink past that point for the fun to begin.&nbsp; The last time she'd followed that advice, she'd ended up puking in a urinal in the co-ed dorm on campus.&nbsp; And then on someone's shoes.&nbsp; And then on her own shoes.&nbsp; Not exactly a shining moment that gave getting hammered a lustrous appeal.&nbsp; Then again, the rot-gut, stomach-lining-burning el-cheapo booze that was the staple at most college parties wasn't like this stuff.&nbsp; She lifted the glass, swirled the liquid around a little bit, liking the color of it, the way it glinted warmly in the light before she took another sip.&nbsp; It slid down her throat smoothly, adding a little more shimmering heat in her belly.<br><br>She set the glass back down with a soft clink as another bit of guilt prickled her conscience.&nbsp; She quashed it, with some difficulty.&nbsp; She deserved this, the drink.&nbsp; &nbsp; Okay.&nbsp; Maybe not deserved.&nbsp; She'd <em>needed</em> it... a little smoothing out of her rougher edges tonight.&nbsp; Megan stretched her legs out&nbsp; under the coffee table, tugged her hair down out of the elastic band she'd bundled it into earlier, threading her fingers through the auburn waves and shifting them back from her face.&nbsp; God, what a week.&nbsp; &nbsp;A four-page paper due in MicroEc,&nbsp; a test in her Statistics class.&nbsp; Her soon-to-be-a-bride sister needing emotional back-patting, her uncle asking for help in the restaurant.&nbsp; Her younger brother's hamster was missing and had it somehow gotten into her bags last weekend and could she please go check right now and could she check again and was she sure it hadn't gotten out while she was driving back to the campus and please check one more time because the hamster could be lonely and scared and hungry and thirsty and God-knew-what-else. Her roommate was having an emotional breakdown and thought maybe she was a lesbian,&nbsp; her laptop had contracted a virus of three-hundred-dollar-repair proportions, and oh yeah.&nbsp; Yesterday she'd walked in on her boyfriend of 8 months with his head between the legs of a naked, moaning, huge-breasted blonde chick in bad need of a root touch up.&nbsp; In HER bed.<br><br>Yeah.&nbsp; She'd needed this drink.<br><br>As if on cue, her cell phone chimed- again- with another text message.&nbsp; &nbsp;She didn't want to look.&nbsp; She was churlishly, childishly, refusing to read Jason's messages anymore.&nbsp; They were there in her head, even when she closed her eyes. <br><strong>Call me.<br>it's not like u think.&nbsp; Call me.&nbsp; <br>Why aren't u answering ur phone?&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>I know it looked bad but ur wrong.&nbsp; Plz call me.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp;Megan, u cant run away.&nbsp; Lets talk about it.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>I don't know why ur being so childish.&nbsp; Plz call back.<br>Ur being stupid.&nbsp; Just pick up ur phone and we can talk. <br>U have 2 call me back.&nbsp; It's important.<br>Ashleigh is right.&nbsp; Ur a drama queen.&nbsp; Just answer the phone<br>U know I love u and it's hurting me that u won't talk 2 me.<br>I think ur mad because her tits and ass are bigger and she's prettier than you.&nbsp; </strong><br><br><br>That was the point where she'd stopped reading them altogether...nothing like a little TNA comparison to Ashleigh-with-an-eigh&nbsp; to twist the knife.&nbsp; <br><br>When her phone chimed again, Megan scrambled up, wavering a little as the room righted itself, and then scooped up her phone.&nbsp; She wasn't going to sit there and stare at it and let it drag her down.&nbsp; Screw that. Screw Jason.<br>Better yet, let&nbsp; Ashleigh-with-an-eigh&nbsp; screw him.&nbsp; The man was lousy at sex anyway.<br><br>Moving&nbsp; across the living room with a little more caution than absolutely necessary, she was rather pleased with the way her head floated and how the whole house had a softer look to it.&nbsp; She tucked her phone down in her purse, then slung both purse and her overnight bag over her shoulder, ferrying them carefully up the stairs.&nbsp; Her glance at the clock had shown it was late enough that Mr. Lassiter wouldn't entertain the thought of letting her catch the bus back to campus by herself; on nights like this she just used the spare bedroom.<br><br>&nbsp;Mr. Lassiter was a decent guy- she liked him.&nbsp; He was really respectful of her, he didn't talk down to her or take advantage of her duties in the house.&nbsp; Some of the people she worked for before did...assumed she was a maid as much as a caretaker.&nbsp; Megan made a point to keep the house picked up and neat- she was a 'leave it cleaner than when you first arrived' sort.&nbsp; &nbsp;And she didn't mind the little extra things-&nbsp; running the vacuum now and then,&nbsp; taking the trash out if it needed it.&nbsp; He was always appreciative of it.&nbsp; She might have taken issue with the hours he worked- he was essentially a single father with the wife never around- but the way his face just lit up when he saw his little boy just erased everything else.&nbsp; <br>She liked for all those reasons, she snickered silently, and the fact that he was kinda hot.&nbsp; <br><br>It really was too bad he was stuck with the Dragon-Bitch for a wife.&nbsp; <br><br>To her credit, she only mis-stepped once during her creep down the hall,&nbsp; catching herself&nbsp; with an awkward little half-step.&nbsp; &nbsp; She dropped her bag and purse in the spare bedroom,&nbsp; then stepped across the hall to the bathroom, blinking owlishly against the light when she flipped the switch.&nbsp; <br><br>Despite the liquor- the very <em>small</em> amount of liquor- in her bloodstream,&nbsp; she still had to make what she considered her final rounds of the night.&nbsp; She scooped up the toys in the tub and hung them in the little mesh bag to drain, rinsed the lingering soap bubbles away.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her hands only fumbled a little when she tidied the countertop, picked up the damp towel and hung it neatly over the shower rod.&nbsp; <br><br>She enjoyed the little domestic chores-&nbsp; and she'd spent far too much time dreaming over them the past couple weeks.&nbsp; They hadn't made any plans, but she'd <em>thought</em> she and Jason had something solid.&nbsp; Maybe not perfect, but enough to build a foundation on.&nbsp; &nbsp;She could admit to herself, with only a small pang around her heart,&nbsp; that she had been imagining herself as a wife.&nbsp; A mom.&nbsp; Coming home every day to a man she loved and the beautiful baby they'd made, a house they'd saved for and the life they were building together.&nbsp; &nbsp;But now...she snorted a humorless laugh.&nbsp; <em>So much for that dream.</em>&nbsp; <br><br>Yeah, she'd been foolish.&nbsp; Hindsight was 20/20, and all that.&nbsp; Too bad it had taken her all that time- and a hell of a shock- to make her realize she was really, really annoyed that he used text-speak.&nbsp; <br>She giggled a little at the random thought, then stopped and stared at her reflection in the mirror.&nbsp; God, she'd giggled.&nbsp; She was buzzing but good.<br><br><em>Screw him</em>, she thought again, then frowned at her image.&nbsp; No.&nbsp; <em>Fuck</em> him.&nbsp; Yeah.&nbsp; She jabbed a finger at the mirror.&nbsp; <em>FUCK HIM</em>.<br><br>She smoothed her hand over the lightweight fabric of the dress she wore, turning sideways first one way, then the other.&nbsp; So maybe her hips were a little on the narrow side, maybe her breasts didn't fully fill a C-cup.&nbsp; She had...what was it?&nbsp; An athletic build.&nbsp; &nbsp;Curves where they counted.&nbsp; &nbsp;Long legs, and her ass was pretty damn good.&nbsp; She had really cute feet, too, she thought, wiggling her bare toes on the bathmat.&nbsp; That had to count for something, right?&nbsp; &nbsp;Her face was good too- at least in her opinion.&nbsp; No beer goggles here, she giggled at her refelction- again-,&nbsp; then rolled her eyes at herself.&nbsp; She REALLY had to stop that giggling.&nbsp; '<br><br>Her forehead creased as she studied her face, frowned a little.&nbsp; Yeah, so.&nbsp; Maybe the bridge of her nose was a little too wide, maybe her face was a little broad.&nbsp; Her chin was kind strong, she mused, jutting it out.&nbsp; But her eyes were good- she got lots of compliments on them.&nbsp; Her mouth was ...kissable, she decided.&nbsp; Yep- utterly kissable.&nbsp; Plus those smile creases.&nbsp; She liked those. <br><br><em>FUCK HIM</em>.&nbsp; &nbsp; It was his loss.&nbsp; <em>FUCK HIM</em>. <em> I'm not gonna stand here and criticize myself any more because of some tactless, txt-speaking idiot</em>.&nbsp; &nbsp;She jabbed a finger at herself again, then flipped Jason her middle finger and sailed out, snapping the light off behind her, spoiling the effect of her grand exit only a little by stumbling over the threshold. <br><br>Boys sucked.<br><br>Well, okay.&nbsp; Grown-up boys sucked, she silently amended as she peeked her head into the softly lit bedroom,&nbsp; checking on the round-cheeked little boy sleeping so peacefully under his blue and green blanket.&nbsp; Little boys were just perfect- all cuteness and sticky fingers and mischievous smiles and innocent joy at earthworms and fingerpaint and toy trucks and popsicles.&nbsp; It was when they grew up that the major suckage began.&nbsp; <br><br>She withdrew her head and pulled the door handle gently, leaving it open a couple inches, and sent a silent&nbsp; hope to whatever higher power that may be listening that the incorrigible, adorable fellow in the Star Wars footy-pajamas would never grow up to be a lying, cheating, whining, ball-less asshole like her EX-boyfriend.<br><br>From down the hall, her phone chimed again.&nbsp; <br><br>Megan shoved her hand through her hair, clenched her jaw, and managed to not kill herself on her way down the steps.&nbsp; She snatched up the glass off the coffee table, and drained the contents in two long swallows,&nbsp; and let the slippery heat work its magic.<br><br>She was just...exhausted.&nbsp; She slumped down onto the couch, counting the slow revolutions of the room, with heavy eyes.&nbsp; About the third time the vase on the mantel squiggled and popped out into two separate versions of itself, she gave up and slid horizontal on the couch, and let her eyes close.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>25-05-2010, 15:23:42</strong>
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				John reached in and to the left immediately after stepping into the darkened foyer, grasping the light-control rheostat and sliding it upward.&nbsp; The crystal chandelier that hung in the center of the entryway slowly came to life, a dozen lightbulbs illuminating and casting countless shimmering motes of refracted light in every direction.&nbsp; He scanned the lay of the broad passage that passed back toward the kitchen at the rear of the house, then glanced left into the study and right into the living room before tilting his head and casting a gaze up the stairs to the landing on the second floor.&nbsp; All was silent, and peaceful - the way it should be all the time.<br><br>If only it actually was.<br><br>A wave of weariness passed over him, and he stretched his arms out to the sides as a shiver coursed slowly down his spine.&nbsp; Turning to the left, he entered the study and laid his briefcase on the chair next to his desk, then turned back and crossed the entryway to mount the stairs and rise to the second floor landing.&nbsp; His son's room was down the hall to the right, and extended over the dining room below.&nbsp; As was normal, the door was slightly ajar - and he pushed it open another three inches, just enough to allow the beam of hallway-light to sweep across the room and illuminate his son's youthful face.&nbsp; The sight brought a smile to John's face, and he watched the boy stir silently for a moment before he pulled the door back to nearly closed.<br><br>Across from his son's room was the spare bedroom, where Megan normally slept after putting him to bed and cleaning up the various messes that littered the house.&nbsp; The door stood completely open for some reason, however, and he was compelled by the oddity to move forward and stick his head deeper into the room.&nbsp; The bed was undisturbed, creme-colored blanket still pulled up and tucked underneath the curving rise of the pillow at its head.&nbsp; There was no sign of Megan at all, not even a scrap of her clothing.<br><br>John frowned as he returned to the hallway, turning to the right and peeking his head into the recreation room between his son's bedroom and the spare.&nbsp; The door to this room was also open, allowing the hallway light to illuminate the tight-loop brown carpet they'd laid especially for a room designed to be a play area.&nbsp; There were a few toys scattered here and there around the room, but for the most part it was clean and tidy - and no sign of Megan.<br><br>At the other end of the hallway was the main bathroom, which also was empty, as well as the master bedroom.&nbsp; The door was closed, as it had been when he had left the house earlier in the day, yet this was turning into 'one of those days', and he surely wasn't going to presume anything unless he saw it with his own eyes.&nbsp; Grasping the handle, he moved into his own bedroom and flipped on the light before scanning his eyes from one side of the room to the other.&nbsp; Not a scrap was out of place - even down to the socks he'd dropped on the floor next to the bed on the previous night when he had gotten home.&nbsp; And again, no Megan.<br><br>John returned to the stairs and headed down, then took a left at the landing and through the open archway into the living room.&nbsp; He hadn't seen anything in the room when he first arrived home, but to be true he hadn't really put much attention into the room - it wasn't where he had been bound.&nbsp; As he entered it now, he scanned the room more closely, and paused when he finally found her.&nbsp; Pursing his lips, he frowned and tilted his head as he took in the scene with more detail.<br><br>Megan was asleep on the couch, slumped back against the pillows at one end with her head cocked at an odd and uncomfortable looking angle.&nbsp; Her left hand rested atop her chest, and her right hand dangled off of the edge of the couch to hang down toward the floor.&nbsp; Clutched in the fingers of her left hand was one of John's highball glasses, and by that point the lingering scent of alcohol had reached his nostrils.<br><br>John's frown deepened as he looked over her, the girl's prostrate body dangling almost comically from the edge of the couch.&nbsp; Megan's left leg was thrown up over the arm of the couch at the far end, and her right leg hung off and was cocked outward, to where her knee nearly touched the edge of the coffee table.&nbsp; her skirt had ridden up her thighs, and from where he stood John was afforded a clear and unobstructed view of her panty-clad pussy and ass.&nbsp; He swallowed for a moment, taken aback by the sight as a tingle coursed up his spine.&nbsp; Megan was an amazingly attractive girl, yet there were a few stumbling blocks - namely the fact that he was married and was many years older than her, and the fact that she was his babysitter.<br><br>"Dammit, Megan" He said quietly, more a whisper of frustration to himself than he had intended to actually be heard.&nbsp; He stepped around the coffee table and plucked the bottle from its edge, then capped it and placed it back into the liquor cabinet in the far corner of the living room.&nbsp; He returned to the girl then, and snatched up the glass from her hand before reaching down and carefully hefting her into his arms.&nbsp; She didn't weigh much, but it didn't seem to matter how much she weighed when her unconscious body responded to his grasp like that of a soaked fettuccine noodle draping off of the edge of a fork.<br><br>With a soft grunt, John wheeled her away from the couch and to the stairs up to the second floor.&nbsp; She smelled lingeringly of his best scotch - at least she'd decided to get drunk on the good stuff - and she also smelled of female.&nbsp; It was something that he didn't smell very often, and she had a clean and youthful scent that sent another tingle of sensation down his spine.&nbsp; Yes, she was a young attractive female passed out in his arms as he carried her up to one of his beds - a twinge of heat caused his cock to pulse, and he clenched his teeth as he moved to the spare bedroom to place her as carefully as possible onto the bed.<br><br>John stepped back and took another look at her, then frowned and moved to peel her shoes away before dropping them onto the floor.&nbsp; Her legs were as smooth as glass, and his fingertips tingled as he brushed them along her ankle in an attempt to readjust their position.&nbsp; Another twitch of arousal raced through him, and he jerked his hand back from her as if he'd been burned.&nbsp; <br><br>"Fuck me," He growled as he grasped the blanket at the foot of the bed and carefully pulled it up, spreading it over her body and nearly to her neck.&nbsp; Tilting his head, he looked in closer and watched her peaceful face for another few moments before finally standing and wiping his damp hands together - almost in an attempt to banish the lecherous thoughts that crept through his consciousness at the back of his mind.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>25-05-2010, 22:09:44</strong>
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				She was floating, and it was lovely.&nbsp; Buoying along just under the surface of consciousness,&nbsp; Megan woozily thought&nbsp; it was like being a kid again, pushing high on the backyard swing and tipping back, eyes closed, letting the momentum carry her and the dizzying thrill of the swing and the sunshine fill her.&nbsp; <br><br>The swinging slowed and she floated up a little closer to the edge of wakefulness, pulled by something she couldn't lay a finger on, but drifted back down again.&nbsp; Swinging in the sunshine was too enjoyable to pass up, the delicious experience made even better by the distinct scent of...well, of man- that strong timbre of masculine skin and a hint of sweat, spicy and rich and musky all on it's own without the cloying artificial punch of&nbsp; some fancy cologne to get in the way.<br><br>She breathed it in, until the warmth of the sunshine and essence of male disappeared and her drifting world gave an unsteady little lurch- along with her stomach.&nbsp; She strained for the pleasurable sensations again, but they were lost- and that little niggle of <em>something</em> pulled her upwards once more.<br><br>She forced her eyelids open a crack, then worked to focus them for a moment before they lowered heavily.&nbsp; <em>Tucked into bed.&nbsp; Spare room at the Lassiters.&nbsp; Everything's fine. </em><br><br><em>James. </em> She surfaced again and hovered, not allowing herself the slide back into sleep that was beckoning, and tried to channel her attention to what was nudging at her cloudy brain.&nbsp; No, not James.&nbsp; There was no stir of movement from the other room, no sleepy cry of distress.&nbsp; <em>He's sleeping.&nbsp; Like you could be</em>. <br><br>&nbsp;She exhaled softly, decided it was just the unease in her belly giving her problems.&nbsp; Maybe she should stick to the el-cheapo stuff...&nbsp; though it had certainly never left her body shimmering like an electric current had passed just under her skin.&nbsp; It was rather pleasant, she decided sleepily.&nbsp; All tingly and focused in some places that hadn't been tingly in quite a while- it was almost enough to make her want to, um.&nbsp; Do something about it.&nbsp; She was just too tired, too comfortable to shift even a little bit to creep&nbsp; her hand..<br><br><em>SHIT</em>.<br><br>Like a light switch being flicked, awareness shot through her, snapping everything to attention.&nbsp; All the little details registered: She was tucked into&nbsp; bed, with the covers pulled darn near over her head , and she hadn't gotten there on her own.&nbsp; She was fully dressed in that bed.&nbsp; Someone was standing less than three feet away.&nbsp; &nbsp;<em>In the bedroom with her.</em>&nbsp; <br>Megan's eyes flew open with a soundless gasp, her gaze shot around the room.&nbsp; Her heart hammered against her ribs; she had no idea how she scrambled up to standing, but found herself face to face with Mr. Lassiter.<br><br>She wasn't sure who was more startled, her or him.&nbsp; &nbsp;Megan pressed the heel of her hand to her heart, trying to drag air back into her lungs.&nbsp; Christ, she'd forgotten how to breathe.&nbsp; She saw Mr. Lassiter's mouth move, and she shook her head.&nbsp; He was going to have to repeat those words once the roar of fear and adrenaline drained from her ears.&nbsp; She held up a hand to ask him to hold on for a second and the action threw her precarious balance off so that she stumbled, nearly falling headlong to the floor, managing to land in an ungainly heap with half her butt hanging off the bed.<br><br>More off-kilter than still suffering from the effects of the alcohol, she&nbsp; she cautiously edged herself up on the mattress, then gathered her legs under her and pushed back up- carefully- to a standing position.&nbsp; Her legs wobbled once, and she shot an arm out for balance and managed to steady herself.<br><br>Flustered, with a million thoughts racing through her head, she tucked her hair behind her ear and risked a look at Mr. Lassiter's frowning face, followed his gaze.<br><br><em>Crap.</em><br><br>"Um.&nbsp; Mr. Lassiter," she began, hurriedly brushing at the skirt&nbsp; that was rucked halfway to her waist, adjusting the crooked neckline of her shirt.&nbsp; &nbsp;"I'm sorry.&nbsp; I...downstairs.&nbsp; It was a bad week," she began, and stumbled through an explanation.&nbsp; She was rambling, and she knew it, and couldn't seem to stop.&nbsp; And he was just staring at her, with this shuttered expression.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her fingers knotted together as she spoke, unlinking&nbsp; occasionally to brush self-consciously&nbsp; at her skirt or readjust her shirt again, checking them nervously as her employers intense gaze just sort of hovered on her.&nbsp; <br><br>"It was just too much, you know?&nbsp; So I was bussing tables all night after spending all afternoon with Sarah and her seating arrangements."&nbsp; &nbsp;She twisted her hair into a coil back over her shoulder, then threaded her fingers through it again to fan it out.&nbsp; <em>Shut up</em>, she berated herself.&nbsp; She just couldn't seem to stop the flow of words, barely pausing for breath, certainly not allowing him a word in edgewise.&nbsp; Her stomach gave that unsteady little bump again as he just watched her, his face unreadable.<br><br>"I know, it shouldn't matter. There's no excuse for the drinking.&nbsp; I was so irresponsible.&nbsp; I AM irresponsible.&nbsp; Not usually, you know?&nbsp; It was just the whole week.&nbsp; And then Jason- you remember Jason. "&nbsp; &nbsp;<em>He doesn't need to know about Jason.&nbsp; He doesn't need to know ANY of it.&nbsp; SHUT UP, Megan</em>.&nbsp; But the babbling explanation carried on.<br><br>"I guess it's good riddance.&nbsp; She can have him.&nbsp; He sucked in bed anyway.&nbsp; Actually, haha, no.&nbsp; He didn't.&nbsp; He said he hated oral sex.&nbsp; Would never do it." Finally, FINALLY she stopped her headlong rush of words with a clapped hand over her mouth.&nbsp; <em>Jesus, Megan</em>.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Her eyes wide and filled with mortification, she shook her head, then dropped her hands.&nbsp; "I'm sorry.&nbsp; God, I'm sorry, Mr. Lassiter.&nbsp; I know I'm not still drunk- not that I was actually drunk.&nbsp; Just a little buzzed.&nbsp; It just all spilled, and I can't seem to stop talking.&nbsp; And...oh, great," she threw up her hands and muttered angrily as the first hot drops of her tears spilled from her eyes.&nbsp; Just what I need to top off this night- to end up bawling in front of her employer after rambling on about her sucky life.&nbsp; &nbsp;She dashed the tears away, pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes until she thought she was safely out of the danger zone, and took a deep breath around the tightness in her chest.<br><br>"I'm sure you're disappointed.&nbsp; Again, I'm sorry.&nbsp; I can or go catch the bus back to campus. "&nbsp; At least she thought she could- she had no idea of what time it was. "Or call a ride.&nbsp; I understand that you're angry and upset.&nbsp; &nbsp;That you don't want me to watch James anymore."&nbsp; <em>Why didn't he SAY something</em>?&nbsp; "I certainly don't expect you to pay me for tonight. I....I'm sorry."&nbsp; <br><br>Megan finally ran out of words, out of things to say.&nbsp; She fidgeted once, chewing on her lower lip nervously, then balled her fists and pressed them to her sides, drawing a small breath and lifting her gaze from the vicinity of the floor to his face.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>28-05-2010, 13:31:52</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan's abrupt and immediate shift from completely unconscious to hyper-aware caught John almost completely off guard, and he stumbled back a bit as she rushed to standing at the side of the spare bed, her clothes completely twisted awry by her hasty move from horizontal to vertical.&nbsp; "Jesus, Megan," he murmured as he moved back, looking almost as disrupted as the girl.<br><br>As if her first movement hadn't been awkward enough, Megan threw up a hand between them and the action completely overbalanced her.&nbsp; As John watched, she tumbled backward and thumped down hard on the edge of the bed.&nbsp; She would have gone completely to the floor, were it not her hand grasping the nightstand awkwardly behind her.&nbsp; In any other situation, John would have been laughing as he watched the girl stumble and squirm in an attempt to right herself, finally making it back to her feet and immediately setting to straightening her outfit.<br><br>"Megan, you..."<br><br>His words didn't seem to register in the mind of the hyper-stressed girl, who immediately began to spill out a plethora of reasons why the situation wasn't as bad as it appeared, and how there had been a number of causal forces that had culminated in one horribly bad week.<br><br>"Megan, I..."<br><br>Still, she didn't seem willing - or capable - of stopping once her flow of words began.&nbsp; She simply continued on, barely pausing to take breaths as the words tumbled from her lips.&nbsp; Her cheeks were blushed a deep red from her embarrassment, and her eyes resembled those of a Doe's caught in the headlights of an oncoming truck.&nbsp; On she went, explaining things in such a rapid tempo that there was no way John could sort them out even if he'd wanted to.&nbsp; He caught note of troubles at work, something to do with her sister, and issues she was having with her boyfriend, each subsequent item bringing her closer and closer to tears.&nbsp; The timbre of her words told him that it wasn't far off, for that matter.<br><br>John had to fight back a smile as the girl clamped her hand over her mouth, manually silencing herself after revealing just a touch too much information about her problems with her boyfriend.&nbsp; It was when she pulled her hand away and began to apologize that he could see the wellspring of emotion starting to build to an overflow, yet still she didn't stop.&nbsp; Courageously she dashed away the tears with the backs of her hands and continued on, layering apology upon apology, explaining how she knew how disappointed he was with her, and how he would most likely not want her as a sitter for his son after this.&nbsp; Finally, she seemed at an end - her fists were balled at her side and her entire body was a coiled spring of emotion, eyelids trembling as moisture still hovered in reserve and waited for the call for waterworks.<br><br>As she finally looked up into his eyes, John realized he was at a loss as to what to do.&nbsp; His senses told him that he could not simply let it go, yet there was no mistaking that she was by far the best babysitter that they had found for James - and a couple drinks of alcohol late at night after the boy had gone to bed, despite its' blatant foolishness, didn't deserve too harsh a punishment.&nbsp; She <em>was</em> a good girl, after all.<br><br>John found himself at that moment without a proper response - and in that instant of indecision he did the only thing that he could think of.&nbsp; Reaching out, he grasped the girl by the shoulders and pulled her close, then wrapped his arms around her upper torso.&nbsp; She was warm and soft, and her hair smelled of floral shampoo - and her entire body trembled as he held her close to his chest.<br><br>"It's ok, Megan," He said in a soft voice of reassurance, his breath warm and tingling upon her cheek and ear.&nbsp; "I'm not angry."<br><br>Angry?&nbsp; No, not a bit.&nbsp; As he had pulled her to his chest, John had shifted himself sideways slightly, so that she wouldn't be pressed directly to his front.&nbsp; It probably wouldn't have been all that comforting to her if she felt the swollen bulge of his raging erection pressing into her as he reassured her that everything was alright.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>28-05-2010, 15:54:10</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>"It's ok, Megan, I'm not angry."</em><br><br>Six little words that lifted a huge weight off her shoulders and relieved the constriction in her chest.&nbsp; She could have sat and argued for hours over why she shouldn't be fired from the job, most importantly that it was a one time lapse in judgment.&nbsp; Thank goodness Mr. Lassiter seemed to...<em>whoa</em>.&nbsp; <br><br>She'd been expecting harsh words of recrimination, anger, ire, frustration.&nbsp; The best she'd hoped for had been annoyance and a stern discussion.&nbsp; So how the heck had she ended up in his arms all tucked against his chest?&nbsp; That was a definite step over the line of employee/employer relations, especially since they'd always been polite with each other, friendly, but, well, distanced.&nbsp; <br><br>He was just comforting her, right?&nbsp; Nothing wrong with that.&nbsp; &nbsp;He was a nice guy.&nbsp; Nice guys did that sort of thing. <br><br>So why was her heart pounding so madly all of a sudden?&nbsp; <br>Why was her body suddenly fluttery and snappy and her mind aware of just how <em>warm</em> he was?<br>Why did a little knot of heat tighten low in her belly when she inhaled his scent - and why did it uncoil and re-kink when his breath brushed her ear and her body bumped his? <br><br>Her nerves were all jittery and jangly, and it was disconcerting as hell.&nbsp; Megan shifted her arms to lift her hands from his chest- how had they gotten there?&nbsp; And how had she never noticed what a great build he had?-&nbsp; and shuffled back an awkward half-step, but he was still holding her close.&nbsp; &nbsp;She started to laugh off her nervous reaction to him, to the situation, and found her face suddenly very, very close to his- and that it wasn't very funny after all.<br><br>Wide eyed, she stared at him with her breath tight in her chest again for an entirely different reason. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>31-05-2010, 21:46:57</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan shifted as he held her, in the first few moments pressing closer to him as that softening feeling seemed to wash over her and her defenses trickled away, yet it was only for a moment.&nbsp; He felt her tense again, and her lungs filled with air as she breathed in deep.&nbsp; A half-step backward against his embrace, and the brush of her soft hair on his cheek and chin.<br><br>As his arms relaxed and released her from his embrace, her face tilted back and her eyes came up to meet his own - a gaze that reflected his shock with equal strength as he stood there only an inch from her and tried hard to contemplate just exactly what in the fuck he was doing.&nbsp; His heart had been beating at a fair pace when he had finally gotten her upstairs and placed into bed - simply from the exertion of carrying an unconscious woman up two flights of stairs without smacking her head into the walls, as well as not disturbing her from her deep slumber.&nbsp; Now, however, his pulse was being pushed higher by something completely different.<br><br>John swallowed hard as his arms pulled back from her, and he looked down into her [<em>remarkably beautiful and youthful</em>] face as he tried desperately to think of what he needed to say next.&nbsp; Somehow, '<em>I really want to fuck you badly right now as it's been months since I had any and I'm wound tighter than a swiss watch</em>' didn't seem all that appropriate at that moment, regardless of the stark truth of it - not to mention his own shock at the desire pounding into him with such brutal force.<br><br>"It's not like you were partying in my house," he began, laying out his reasons for <em>not</em> needing to be angry and seeking punishment.<br><br><em>Though she could use a good spanking.</em><br><br>The image of her bent across his lap, squirming and shrieking as he paddled her round ass crashed into his brain with all the subtlety of an NFL linebacker smashing through a meandering line of senior citizens.&nbsp; He stuttered his words for a moment as he struggled to continue.<br><br>"A.. a.. and it was obvious that you took the time to clean up after you put James to bed," he continued, then paused to inhale a lungful of breath.&nbsp; His nostrils tingled madly with the maddeningly arousing scent of her along with the lingering aroma of his Scotch.&nbsp; It was probably good that she'd pulled away, as anything more would have betrayed to her how intensely aroused he was at that very moment.<br><br>"... so I think we can overlook this little inconsistency, <em>this time.</em>"&nbsp; He emphasized the end of the statement as he tried his best to fix her with a look of stern resolve, all with his nostrils still flaring to capture the slightest essence of her.<br><br><em>Yes, she really <strong>really</strong> needs that spanking, John.&nbsp; You should spank her sweet young ass until she cries and begs you for forgiveness.</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>01-06-2010, 21:01:53</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan watched Mr. Lassiter with surprise and a little disbelief, thoughts tumbling through her head as she stood before him.&nbsp; &nbsp;His eyes were dark on her, fathomless and heated;&nbsp; she felt like she could fall into them.&nbsp; She didn't hear his words over the pounding of her heart and the sudden rushing in her head, she could only pick out the gruff tone of his voice.&nbsp; His face was tight, almost strained, and his body was stiff and rigid and mere&nbsp; inches from hers, so that she could feel the heat from him warming her skin.<br><br><em>What had he just said? </em> Something about partying.<br><br>She licked her suddenly-dry lips, pink tongue dragging along the fullness of her lower lip.&nbsp; When his eyes locked onto the movement, lingered on her mouth, a thrill of heat darted through her.&nbsp; The roaring in her head grew louder.&nbsp; She wasn't stupid, nor entirely innocent; she knew when a man had an interest in a woman.&nbsp; &nbsp; She'd been looked at with desire before, but God, not the way he was looking at her right now.&nbsp; Standing there with that intensity&nbsp; like he wanted to devour her.&nbsp; &nbsp;She struggled to focus on his words, catching only the barest phrase about putting James to bed.<br><br><em>Take ME to bed.<br></em><br>The thought bloomed in her head, and for one mortifying second she thought she'd spoken out loud.&nbsp; <br><br>She shifted another few inches, though the movement was lateral as she shied away from those thoughts.&nbsp; Christ, where had that come from?&nbsp; This was Mr. Lassiter.&nbsp; James' dad.&nbsp; <em>Her boss.</em>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>She had to be still suffering the effects of the alcohol.&nbsp; She <em>had</em> to be.&nbsp; Where else had this rushing whip of heat come from?&nbsp; This instant craving that&nbsp; broke over her skin and made her nerve endings dance with awareness?<br><br>Unbidden, images erupted in her mind.&nbsp; His hands on her skin, fast and hot and commanding.&nbsp; His body over hers, long and lean as he rose up, face tight and taut and head thrown back.&nbsp; His mouth- how had she never noticed that hard slash of a mouth?- on her body, covering every inch of her flesh.<br><br>She made an involuntary sound and pressed a hand low to her stomach.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Focus, Megan.</em>&nbsp; She tried- really tried.&nbsp; He was saying something...something... about being inconsistent.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;Did it get more inconsistent than having an out-of-the-blue knee-weakening, mouth-watering, blood-churning case of the fuck-me-now's for the employer- the <em>MARRIED</em> employer- that's always been polite and professional and faintly distant?<br><br>Did he feel it?&nbsp; He had to feel it.&nbsp; There was something snapping in the air, a thick tension that made heat prickle along her scalp and the backs of her thighs.&nbsp; &nbsp;Megan&nbsp; took a closer measure of the man standing before her, vaguely certain he would never quite fit the&nbsp; 'just a boss' category again.&nbsp; His breathing was uneven, his body seemingly coiled and ready for...something.&nbsp; His hands balled into fists, and ...wow.&nbsp; <em>Yeah</em>.&nbsp; Pressing insistently against the front of his slacks, the hard length of his erection was very, very evident.<br><br>Her eyes darted up to his as her cheeks flamed, then away, and she prayed that he hadn't noticed her glance at his crotch.&nbsp; Her heart pounding, Megan speared her fingers through her hair and threaded it away from her face in a fidgety movement.&nbsp; What the hell did she do now?<br><br>She could step back. <em> Pretend it never happened. </em> <br><br>She could pretend to be tipsy still.&nbsp; Fake a little stumble, slur her words a little.&nbsp; Blame the entire thing on the alcohol ... and if she was lucky, convince herself that was the case.<br><br>She could laugh it off, shrug it off.&nbsp; Gather what little bit of maturity and dignity she still had and just deal with it.&nbsp; They were both adults, both human, and just caught in a strange situation.&nbsp; Things happened.<br>She could step forward and press her body against all that hard strength and heat and press her mouth to his just to taste him.&nbsp; Grab his hand and cover her own breast with it, and curl a hand around the jutting bulge just under his fly. <br><br>She could.&nbsp; Her palms itched to, her body yearned to, her thighs trembling together and her nipples peaking hard under the soft cotton of her blouse.&nbsp; Her lips tingled, and&nbsp; felt immeasurably bereft at not having the hard and unyielding pressure of his mouth on hers.<br><br><em>You should. </em>Should do it to taste the heat that she sensed was just there boiling under the surface.&nbsp; To match it with her own.&nbsp; To arch under his touch, to give herself over to the sheer stupidity and intensity of the moment.<br><br>The voice in her head clamored for it.&nbsp; Her body vibrated with the urge to just test the waters and see what would happen. Her gaze drifted down over him almost absently, until he moved just slightly, made a small sound.<br><br>She realized, with sudden clarity, that he'd stopped talking and was watching her.&nbsp; That he was waiting for a response.<br><br><em>Crap.</em><br><br>Her hands twisted together once, and she debated her choices in rapid succession.&nbsp; Lying about her intoxication was out of the question, even if it was to save face.&nbsp; Pretending it hadn't happened, well.&nbsp; That was sort of like lying too, wasn't it?&nbsp; &nbsp; She knew what she wanted to do...and she knew she damn well wasn't about to risk her job- or what was left of her dignity- by molesting her boss.&nbsp; Left with only one option, she lifted her chin, and met his dark gaze, ignoring the pull in her belly.&nbsp; <br><br><em>Maturity.&nbsp; Dignity.&nbsp; Deal with it.</em>&nbsp; But first she had to figure out what the heck he'd said.&nbsp; "I...I'm sorry, Mr. Lassiter.&nbsp; I...wasn't listening.&nbsp; I didn't hear what you said." <em> Because I was too busy thinking about you throwing me down on this bed and making me scream the house down with pleasure.</em><br><br>She winced inwardly as his expression darkened, and she shrank back, just slightly, in surprise before her jaw firmed, and her chin lifted.&nbsp; If he was mad, so be it.&nbsp; She'd just have to deal with the consequences of that.&nbsp; <br><br>She wished the thought didn't make her squirm all over again.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>She forced her hazel eyes to hold his smoldering black ones, her chin nudging up a tiny bit more in both challenge and determination, and she waited.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>02-06-2010, 13:55:22</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				John's eyes followed her own as she lowered her gaze, past the protruding swell of what appeared to be quite sufficiently hard nipples and a smooth, flat belly that was clenched tight.&nbsp; As his gaze continued further down, however, he realized that his own arousal was clear and undeniable - and he swallowed nervously as her head tilted back and her eyes raised to meet his own.<br><br>"I...I'm sorry, Mr. Lassiter.&nbsp; I...wasn't listening.&nbsp; I didn't hear what you said," she spoke to him in a voice that trembled slightly, yet the look in her eyes and the angle of her chin caught him completely off-guard.<br><br><em>Was she fucking with him?&nbsp; Challenging him??</em><br><br>Slowly John's mouth fell open, a slack-jawed look as his brain stumbled to process what he was seeing, what he was feeling.&nbsp; He struggled to try and find some proper, suitable response to what she'd said, but for the life of him he couldn't even process the reality of her statement.<br><br><em>Wasn't listening?&nbsp; Good Christ.</em><br><br>"Um, I..."<br><br>Swallowing, John rolled his eyes up and broke their direct gaze as he tried desperately to think of exactly what he'd said.&nbsp; All he could think about was the proximity of the girl, the protruding swell of her nipples, the intoxicating scent of her flooding his nostrils.&nbsp; <em>Fuck, this can't really be happening.</em><br><br>"I was saying," he began, then swallowed as his suddenly desert-dry throat threatened to choke off the rest of his words.&nbsp; He pushed his tongue up and then licked his lips, then nearly cringed with the realization that he'd just <em>licked his lips.</em><br><br><em>What the fuck are you thinking, idiot?</em><br><br>Turning his head, he raised his hand and coughed once into his closed fist before turning his head back and once again meeting his eyes.<br><br><em>Get ahold of yourself, John.&nbsp; She's just your babysitter, and she screwed up.&nbsp; Nothing more.</em><br><br><em>Nothing that would require you to smack that tight, sweet ass before you spread her out on your desk and fucked her like an animal.</em><br><br>The voices that seemed to race around in his head served only to make his heart pump more furiously, and he clenched his jaw as he tried desperately to regain his own measure of self-control while forming his next sentence to the girl.<br><br>"I was saying that there was no harm done, and that I trust you despite this little mistake - so we're going to forget that it happened, this time," he said finally, straining to formulate the words perfectly - and clearly working hard to keep himself on track.&nbsp; His heart pounded madly as he looked down at her, his eyes going a little crazed with the racing of his stressed mind.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>02-06-2010, 22:57:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan held her breath for a long moment after his words faded, almost as though waiting for... something else.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>When nothing else was said, or done, she tentatively relaxed.&nbsp; Her relief was palpable as she exhaled the breath.&nbsp; "Thank you, Mr. Lassiter."&nbsp; She was grateful- really.&nbsp; Anyone else in his position likely would have fired her.&nbsp; Hell, had she been in his position, <em>SHE</em> would have fired her.&nbsp; <br><br>Feeling like she'd dodged a bullet- and inexplicably, like there was a different one with her name on it- she offered a small smile, self consciously, trying to ease whatever was sitting so uncomfortably in the inches between them.&nbsp; He just stood there, staring at her with his eyes hard and dark, and her smile slipped, then slid completely.&nbsp; Like it was chiseled from granite, his face was locked, and there was something...warring, she decided, in his eyes.&nbsp; She couldn't look away; it didn't seem he could either. She had the fanciful thought that something was being communicated between their bodies, though she had no idea what.&nbsp; It strained, shied, and strained again.&nbsp; She found it was more than a little disconcerting, being unable to put a finger on it- or stop it.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her chest was tight, and her breathing shallow, and the tension was even thicker and with a different feel to it.&nbsp; She wanted to wave a hand in the few inches between them to tear it asunder, and found she simply couldn't move to break the spell of the tableau.&nbsp; Frozen, afraid to move, she hardly dared to breathe.<br><br>Somewhere in the depths of the house, the air conditioner kicked on with a subtle hum.<br><br>He blinked, seemed to ease backwards without actually moving, and the pressure eased.<br><br>In tandem, in silence, they both moved.&nbsp; Megan took an edging step to the side as Mr. Lassiter stepped back, shifting enough so that she wouldn't bump into him when she carefully turned and put her back to the bed.&nbsp; She stole a quick glance at him, then another as he lifted a hand and scrubbed it over his head.<br><br><em>He looks tired</em>, she thought.&nbsp; &nbsp;More than tired.&nbsp; <em>Weary</em>.&nbsp; The tightness in his features, the fatigue in his eyes.&nbsp; Even as she watched, he slumped, just slightly, like all his energy had suddenly flagged.&nbsp; He met her gaze, and his hand dropped at his sides, his fist balling loosely.&nbsp; She thought he was going to say something,&nbsp; his mouth opening slightly before it snapped shut again.&nbsp; Awkwardly, in the silence, she reached for something to say, and came up empty.&nbsp; <br><br>His mouth opened again, and this time he did speak.&nbsp; "Goodnight, Megan."&nbsp; The words were short, and somehow definitive.&nbsp; &nbsp;He moved past her towards the hall, turning back only partway, once, before squaring his shoulders and pushing through the doorway, not another word spoken.<br><br>She listened as he moved down the hall, her heart still pumping madly and a vague sort of unease sifting over her when the quiet click of his bedroom door sounded softly.&nbsp; &nbsp;Another bit of the pressure in her lungs eased.&nbsp; &nbsp;Megan shook her head and lowered herself to the bed on weak legs.&nbsp; <br><em> What the heck had happened here? </em> <br><br>She couldn't think about it. She wouldn't think about it.&nbsp; The whole thing was over- much better to not pick it apart and analyze it.&nbsp; Knowing herself, she would overthink it to death.&nbsp; And knowing herself, it would only wind her up and send molehills skyrocketing into mountains.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Exhaustion hit her suddenly, pummeled through her limbs.&nbsp; <em> Just go to bed.&nbsp; </em> It would all look better in the morning, and she could get a better handle on the whole thing.&nbsp; &nbsp;<em> Sleep now, think later. </em>&nbsp; <br><br>With a yawn, she tugged her overnight tote up onto her lap, blindly grabbing&nbsp; the t-shirt and pajama pants&nbsp; she'd carefully packed on top.&nbsp; She felt a little silly, creeping the four feet across the hall to the bathroom, pajamas and makeup case in hand.&nbsp; &nbsp;Why she found it imperative to sneak- as though to avoid drawing any attention to herself as she readied for bed- she didn't question.&nbsp; Her mind carefully blank, nighttime rituals of teeth brushing and face washing and pajama donning complete, she crept back once more.&nbsp; The thought crossed her mind, briefly, to close and lock the door of the spare room before she slipped into bed, but she dismissed it, instead simply snapping off the low bedside lamp and nudging the door closer to the jamb.&nbsp; James might be a sound sleeper, and with Mr. Lassiter home her duties might officially be over, but it didn't stop her from still feeling responsible.&nbsp; Besides, she'd never felt threatened by Mr. Lassiter before.&nbsp; <br><br>'Carefully blank' lasted all of two minutes, when a soft, muted thunk on the wall reminded her that <em>HE</em> was mere feet away.<br><br>She found herself straining for the sounds, to pick out what he was doing.&nbsp; He surely had his nightly rituals too.&nbsp; She'd never given it thought before.&nbsp; Did he shower at night, or in the morning?&nbsp; Was he brushing his teeth?&nbsp; Undressing? <em>Stop right there.</em>&nbsp; She backed away from where that thought might lead with haste.&nbsp; She really didn't need to be musing about her employer's state of undress.<br><br>&nbsp;He and Dragon-Bitch had a trim little flat-screen tv on the wall.&nbsp; Maybe he was settling in for the Late show.&nbsp; Or the Late Late show- she was clueless about the time, and was far too comfortable in the bed to force her eyes open to check her cell phone.&nbsp; Another yawn squeezed tears from her closed eyes; she sighed as her body relaxed into the softness of the mattress.&nbsp; Mr. Lassiter struck her as more of a reader than a tv buff.&nbsp; It was possible he was tucked under the covers with a good book, settling down before sleep.&nbsp; Non fiction, decided.&nbsp; No- Sci fi.&nbsp; &nbsp;She could see him with one of those uber-long books about distant worlds and warring races and interplanetary galactic battles or whatever those things were.&nbsp; Yeah..he had that little tinge of nerd around the edges.<br>It really was kinda sexy.<br><br>A sci-fi book, or some magazine.&nbsp; Probably not GQ, she smiled to herself.&nbsp; More like National Geographic.&nbsp; Or a computer mag.&nbsp; Or Popular Science.&nbsp; <br>Or Playboy.<br><br><em>Stop.&nbsp; NO.&nbsp; no, no, no, no, no.</em><br><br>Too late.&nbsp; It was there, in living technicolor- all that tension and tightness she'd read in his face minutes earlier twisted into a strain for release as he tossed the magazine aside, his head tipping back and his hands...<em>NO.</em><br><br>Megan shut that thought down, hard and fast, refusing to acknowledge the heat that pierced so sharply that a soft little moan escaped.&nbsp; <em>Puppies.&nbsp; Think about puppies.&nbsp; Or rutabagas.&nbsp; Or the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. </em>&nbsp; She rolled to her side, tucking the blanket up under her arm, the other tucked under the pillow, her knee drawn up.&nbsp; She squeezed her already-closed eyes a little tighter.&nbsp; <em>Better yet, just don't think.&nbsp; </em>&nbsp; If she could just blank it all out...a Latin phrase from a high school psych class floated to mind.&nbsp; &nbsp;<em>Tabula rasa.&nbsp; Blank slate.&nbsp; Tabula rasa. </em> She repeated it like a mantra, whispering first into the dark,then in her head, not allowing any other thoughts through.&nbsp; <em>Tabula rasa. Tabula rasa. Tabula rasa.</em><br><br>She chanted the mantra, blocking out even the faint lingering humming in her body, until she slid into sleep.&nbsp; <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>07-06-2010, 23:07:45</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>What the fuck just happened?</em><br><br>John walked down the hallway from the spare bedroom to the end, and swung open one of the two double-doors that led into the house’s expansive master bedroom.&nbsp; His head spun with … Confusion?&nbsp; Consternation?&nbsp; Frustration?&nbsp; … … Arousal?&nbsp; He shook his head from side to side and closed his eyes as he tried to banish the thoughts from his head, the images and the daydreams that had his heart thumping a distance-runner’s cadence in his chest, and still had his cock at full-mast stretching at the front of his slacks.<br><br>“Fuck.”<br><br>Clenching his fists and opening his eyes, John surveyed the shadowed bedroom as he leaned back into the door and pushed it closed with his shoulders.&nbsp; The click of the mortise lock into the frame was unseemingly loud, almost like the clack of a jail cell door’s lock as the bolt crashed home.&nbsp; It was altogether too uncomfortably accurate a vision as well, given that this place was a sort of prison for him.&nbsp; Nothing within this place, save for the meager collection of outfits he had in his dresser and the two-foot long section of rod within the expansive walk-in closet, was his.&nbsp; It was her domain – as was most of the house, for that matter.&nbsp; Easily ninety percent of the things here belonged to or were chosen by her, without the slightest thought of inquiry as to what he might like, or what he might prefer.&nbsp; <br><br>He was simply the provider of male DNA so that she could have the family unit she required.&nbsp; &nbsp;How peachy.<br><br>With a frustrated growl, John moved to his side of the bed and kicked off his shoes while simultaneously stripping his shirt off and tugging it from his shoulders.&nbsp; He just wanted to …<br><em><br>… lay his babysitter down and feel the unmatched pleasure of her young, tight pussy spreading for the thickness of his cock.</em><br><br>He groaned again as the flood of desire raged through him, and his cock pulsed and swelled in response.&nbsp; Frustrated, John looked down as he stripped off his pants – his cock was as hard as it had ever been, standing out proudly and shamelessly, proclaiming his complete and undiluted desire at that moment.&nbsp; His boxers were stained with wetness, a dark patch at the top of the pole that tented the material up and away from his hips.<br><br>“Oh yea, that’s all you need to make things complete,” he says to no one in particular – perhaps talking to his cock, though the thought of him doing that sends a tingle of embarrassment up his spine.&nbsp; “Fuck the babysitter.&nbsp; Hell, how about more than once?&nbsp; How about make her into your personal little fucktoy, so that after she takes care of the baby she can come take care of daddy too?”<br><br>John clamped his jaws shut, realizing that his whispers had gotten a bit louder than he had intended.&nbsp; Another flood of embarrassment raged up his spine and he twisted around to stare intensely at the wall separating the master bedroom from the master bath, and beyond to where the spare bedroom laid only thirty feet away from where he stood.&nbsp; Had she heard him?&nbsp; He sure as hell hoped not.&nbsp; She couldn’t have – the walls were much too well insulated for that – one of the benefits of a custom-built home, nice and private, no sound echoing from room to room.&nbsp; Quiet enough…<br><em><br>… so that he could fuck the babysitter in the spare bedroom as his son slept peacefully on the other side of the hallway.</em><br><br>“Jesus fucking H Christ almighty,” he growled as he shoved his boxers down his thighs, then strode purposefully into the bathroom.<br><br>He flipped on the light as he entered the white and crème porcelain ensconced room, every angle gleaming bone-white or polished brass.&nbsp; Another room that belonged to her, with the salmon-hued towels and washcloths alternated with matching white ones, folded in perfect equilateral triangles from the gleaming brass towel rods.&nbsp; Decorative soaps shaped like scalloped Manila clams, all laid out perfectly on gleaming lead crystal soap dishes.<br><em><br>Don’t touch the decorative soap.&nbsp; Don’t touch the fucking decorative fucking soap, or I’ll divorce your worthless stupid ass and you’ll be left with nothing after my army of lawyers prison-rape your ass so hard you won’t be able to sit for a month.</em><br><br>John stopped in the center of the bathroom, his hand reflexively reaching to coil fingers around the base of his still rock-hard cock.&nbsp; The touch sent a rush of heat and pleasure through him, and he stared at his reflection in the mirrors that stretched the entire length of the left wall.&nbsp; Maybe a prison rape wouldn’t be so bad, if it meant getting away from that bitch.<br><br>His cock pulsed in his hand, tingling sensations coursing up his spine and dragging his thoughts away from the unpleasantness of his marriage and back to the topic at hand.&nbsp; With a groan of lust he strode another two steps to the shower and reached inside to crank on the water, letting it cascade down from all three shower heads into a conflagration of powerful water streams at their center.&nbsp; In moments the water began to roll with steam, and he stepped into the center of the streams with his fist still clutched tightly around his erection.<br><br>The action was automatic from this point on, no direction needing to be taken.&nbsp; His cock was already slick with his own precum, and the slide of his fist along its length further aided to push more to the broad glans as the sensations rolled through him.&nbsp; A dollop of insultingly expensive conditioner from the bitch’s supply – he had to admit, the stuff did feel amazing on his cock – and John began to stroke his fist up and down its’ length, pumping hard as the visions of Megan filled his head.&nbsp; This was John time, and there was nothing to distract him here – no twinges of propriety or guilt to shame him – simply his own fantasies unbidden by anything else.&nbsp; Just the decadent thoughts of her lithe, athletic body atop him, underneath him, pinned to the wall or on the counter or on any of a hundred fuck-worthy spots throughout the house and elsewhere...<br><br>His climax was quick and powerful, jetting from his swollen glans as he leaned against the wall with one hand and shook with the overwhelming sensations.&nbsp; His knees trembled and buckled, nearly sending him to the polished white floor, but he ground his teeth and stabilized himself as his cock pulsed the last few shots of his orgasm onto the spotless white walls.&nbsp; He watched idly as his passion dribbled down the tile surface, finally meeting with the cascade of water and being swept away toward the crosshatched brass drain cover in the center of the shower.<br><br>Washed away, all evidence of it passed from existence, leaving only him knowing of the intensity that raged through him as he fantasized about filling Megan’s tight young body with every drop of his own passion.&nbsp; John shuddered again as he contemplated how easy it would be.&nbsp; His wife would never know.&nbsp; Fuck, the bitch was never here anyhow – she shouldn’t even care.&nbsp; Not to mention, it’d relieve her of the obligatory mercy-fuck she threw him during each of her home visits.<br><br>Numbly John finished his quick shower, and then shut the shower heads off before stumbling wearily through the bathroom and into the bedroom.&nbsp; He had been exhausted already when he arrived home an hour ago, but after a powerful climax, his body felt like overcooked pasta.&nbsp; He finally made it to the bed, wrapped only in one of his wife’s precious salmon bath towels – and slumped forward to fall onto the plush king-size pillowtop mattress that had cost them two months of his salary to buy.<br><br>He had to admit as he slipped into unconsciousness – it was a damn fine mattress.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>09-06-2010, 00:14:32</strong>
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				She rose from sleep to wakefulness in a few heartbeats when a little hand patted her arm and her name was called, turning her head to smile at James in the dim light of dawn.&nbsp; He watched her soberly from the side of the bed, his dark head and one arm poking through the neckhole of a backwards tshirt, and his Star Wars pj's tangled around his legs.&nbsp; <br>She rose up on one elbow, giving a sleepy half-chuckle.&nbsp; "Having trouble, big guy?"<br><br>In answer he leaned in to her, his dimpled hand splaying over her cheek, his palm against the corner of her curving lips.&nbsp; "Wan' pancakes."<br><br>Megan laughed softly, reaching for her cell phone to check the time and cancel its alarm...an hour and 20 minutes earlier than earlier than it was set to go off.&nbsp; <em>Ouch.</em><br><br>She knew well that once he was awake and moving there was little chance of convincing the youngster to snuggle back into bed, so she pushed the covers back and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress,&nbsp; reaching for him and tugging his little body up onto her lap, balancing him on her legs.&nbsp; "Let's get us both dressed first before we start breakfast negotiations.&nbsp; Arm in,"&nbsp; she directed with a smothered yawn, turning the shirt to face the right way and holding it as he poked his hands back through in the proper places.&nbsp; &nbsp;She pulled the footed pajamas free of his feet and let him slide to the floor.&nbsp; "What do you say we get some pants and socks on you?"<br><br>"I get them,"&nbsp; James told her sternly, his tone brooking no argument and his little brows beetling over his eyes.&nbsp; She waited until he'd charged out the door and into the hall before she let her amused smile spread.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Knowing the almost-4 year old's habits well enough, she took advantage of his preoccupation with finding the perfect pair of socks and set of shorts to match his mood and pulled her own clothes out of her bag, stripping off the faded blue knit of her sleepshirt and replacing it with a simple white tee shirt over the bra she'd slept in.&nbsp; &nbsp;Straining for sound- from both James and his father that would alert her to their approach- she hip-checked the door and stood just behind it, hurriedly peeling off the striped pajama pants and her panties, replacing them with a fresh pair and denim shorts.&nbsp; She bundled her discarded pajamas back into her bag on top of the clothes from the day before,&nbsp; and plucked her make-up case from the dresser.<br><br>Poking her head in James' doorway, Megan was pleased to see him with his shorts on the right way and struggling with his socks.&nbsp; "Want help?"&nbsp; She crouched down, setting the small plastic bag on the carpet and helped him work his feet into the socks. "Ta da!&nbsp; And all we need is shoes.&nbsp; Whaddya say we go brush our teeth?" She poked her index finger gently into his soft belly, tickling him. " I think someone has some serious dragon breath!"&nbsp; <br><br>James flopped on the floor with a belly laugh, then roared at her with an admittedly ferocious sound as he clambered to his feet.&nbsp; "Me first!"&nbsp; He scooped up her bag and rushed headlong into the hall.&nbsp; <br><br>"You yellow-bellied fire-breather!&nbsp; Come back here with my treasure!"&nbsp; Knowing the game well, Megan followed him into the bathroom, a mock-scowl on her face.&nbsp; In short order they both had faces washed and dragon breath eradicated with a good teeth brushing, and James stood dancing in the doorway as she scooped her hair back into a ponytail and secured it.&nbsp; She turned and gave him a grin.&nbsp; "Okay, you.&nbsp; Let's go tidy up my bedroom, and we'll go get you some breakfast."&nbsp; She started across the hall after him as he charged ahead.&nbsp; "Would you like..."<br>She broke off as James planted both feet wide in the hallway and threw his hand out towards her like a traffic cop.<br><br>"Shhhh! My daddy's sleeeeeeping."&nbsp; He gave her a fierce frown.&nbsp; <br><br>Megan slid her glance to the double doors just yards away, and her stomach gave a little lurch.&nbsp; She'd been trying not to think about that. <br><br>&nbsp; About him. <br><br>"Okay," she whispered, and did an exaggerated tiptoe further into the wide hall.&nbsp; "Lets be verrrrry quiet.&nbsp; I think he might be awake, but sometimes daddies can be like cranky growly bears in the morning.&nbsp; We don't want to wake up any cranky growly bears!"&nbsp; <br><br>James giggled at her expression, and she gave an overly-dramatic shushing sound, then scooped him up and charged across the hall as he squirmed and laughed.&nbsp; She was fairly certain Mr. Lassiter was awake already and getting ready for his day- or would be soon-, but she wasn't certain she was ready for the morning's encounter.&nbsp; She was still a little off balance, and hadn't had a chance to sort through the events of the night before, to gain some insight to what had transpired, and her newfound reactions to any and all thoughts of her current employer.&nbsp; Then again, she thought, maybe it was better that way.<br><br>Sometimes it was better to let sleeping bears lie.<br><br>They kept up the pretense of not wanting to wake the large and growly bear as she straightened the sheets and tugged the blankets up, carefully arranged the pillows and walked around the bed to smooth out every wrinkle of the coverlet not just once, but twice.&nbsp; She'd made the mistake of not putting the pillows and blankets back in precise showplace-home position once before, and had incurred the wrath of the Dragon-bitch. She darn well wouldn't be making that same mistake again.&nbsp; &nbsp;Megan may not have been anal-retentive about the exact placement of items and the appearance of the house, but she certainly hadn't been a slob about it.&nbsp; Her tidiness hadn't been the issue- it was the wrinkle in the throw on the couch and the pillow slightly askew in the front sitting room that had resulted in her being called on the carpet for an 'apparent disregard for appearance and lack of appreciation or respect of style'.&nbsp; &nbsp; It had only taken that one encounter with Mrs. Lassiter to instill a serious motivation to keep certain parts of the house pristine at all times, come hell or high water.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Sometimes, out of pure spite,&nbsp; Megan used polished wooden staircase in the great room rather than <em>only</em> using the back steps that led from the kitchen as Dragon-bitch had commanded.&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>She helped James off those back steps now, his hand tucked in hers as they moved through the kitchen.&nbsp; "Phew!&nbsp; Made it safely."&nbsp; She tugged on the refrigerator door, swinging it wide so they could peruse the contents.&nbsp; "Bananas or strawberries or blueberries or fruit salad with your cereal?&nbsp; No pancakes," she said firmly, crouching to look him in the eye, seeing the mutinous expression setting in.&nbsp; "Today you and I have school and your daddy has to work.&nbsp; But if I'm here on Friday or Saturday, then we'll see what we can do about a pancake breakfast the next day."&nbsp; &nbsp;She tugged on the hem of his shirt lightly to jostle him. "Besides, if you eat pancakes every day, you'll turn into a pancake.&nbsp; And then I'd have to eat you all up.&nbsp; Like this!"&nbsp; She tugged him to her and made mock chomping sounds against his neck until he giggled and squirmed.&nbsp; Laughing herself, she set him back on his feet and grinned.&nbsp; "So, since I can't eat you, I guess I have to make do with fruit.&nbsp; What's the choice for today?"<br><br>"'Nanas! And sturberries."&nbsp; <br><br>Megan laughed again and nodded. "Bananas and strawberries it is. "&nbsp; <br><br>She pulled out the fruit and his little stepstool and supervised his pouring of milk and cereal, helped him slice up the berries and the banana with a butter knife, her hands guiding his carefully.<br>They settled at the table under the bank of windows, sharing their fruit and cereal and silly conversations about dinosaurs and practicing counting to fifty.&nbsp; Her gaze kept cutting to the clock on the microwave, though, watching the time, her belly tightening up.&nbsp; She knew Mr. Lassiter would be coming down the steps soon, and she wasn't sure she was ready for it.&nbsp; For him.&nbsp; For...whatever reaction she would have to seeing him.<br><br>One ear cocked for the sound of footsteps on the stairs, she half-listened as James rattled&nbsp; on about the edu-taining adventures of a cartoon character and his encounters with different animals as he ate.&nbsp; <br><br><em>This is ridiculous</em>, she thought, stabbing a chunk of strawberry with her fork.&nbsp; &nbsp;Every nerve ending quivered, as though getting ready to hum to life at the first sign of his presence, and her stomach did a slow revolution every time the thought of him carrying her up the stairs and tucking her into the bed crept in, every time she replayed their conversation and the memory of all that...awareness of him zipped along her skin.&nbsp; How in the heck could she be a good judge of the situation, be on neutral territory to test her reactions in the light of day if she was already reacting when he wasn't even in the same room yet?&nbsp; <br><br>With a little scowl pushed back from the table, moving to the cabinet just off the laundry room that held what she thought of as kid craft stuff.&nbsp; She snagged some paper and the container of crayons, rejoining James as he finished his breakfast.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;Megan nudged their bowls, silverware, and glasses&nbsp; back,&nbsp; spread the paper between them and bent her head to his.&nbsp; <br>Determinedly, she shoved everything else out of her head.<br><br>For as long as she still could.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>26-06-2010, 00:10:19</strong>
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				"<em>Ohhhgod, Mister Lassiter,</em>" Megan whimpered and cried as she ground down atop John's raging cock, "<em>You're so fucking big inside me!!</em>"&nbsp; Her pussy was tight like a silk vise, clamping down on his rockhard shaft with every movement of her body.<br><br>"You gonna cum inside her nasty little cunt, John?" his wife asked him, standing next to the bed with her hands on her hips as Megan bounced up and down atop him, the girl's firm young breasts bouncing with every strike of his cockhead against her core.<br><br>"<em>nnnnnngodddd, I'm gonna cum,</em>" Megan cried out, her body trembling atop him as her hands clenched tightly onto his forearms.<br><br>"You'd better not be late for work, Lassiter," Mr. Leftwich growled, he too standing next to the bed with his arms folded across his chest in a way that seemed to accentuate the protruding belly that stretched his navy blue blazer to the limits of the buttons' tensile strength.&nbsp; They seemed to quiver under the pressure, threatening at any second to pop and fly off like tiny plastic missiles, slamming into whatever hapless victim might lay in their path.<br><br>The sound of bells pounding in his head accentuated the sounds of her moans, resonating as she bounced atop him and hammered her pussy down onto his cock.&nbsp; "<em>Cum inside me, Mister Lassiter!!</em>" she screamed, her nails raking into his forearms and sending shockwaves of sensation through him.<br><br>"You're going to get her pregnant, you stupid fuck," his wife hissed again, her eyes seeming to glow red with her contempt for him.&nbsp; "Shoot your nasty wad right into her, see what kind of fucking trouble that will bring."<br><br>The bells pounded louder as the tingling flood of sensation grew, clenching his abdomen and causing his legs to spasm.&nbsp; "Fuck," he gasped, back arching, pushing up at the constricting pressure around his waist.&nbsp; The ringing bells raked at his consciousness like the ephemeral claws of awareness as the dream began to quickly fade into memory, leaving him to groan in passion as his eyes snapped open in the shadowy confines of the dark bedroom.<br><br>John's hand went unconsciously to his waist, pressing flat over the tightly wrapped towel that hugged around his waist and hips.&nbsp; One brush of his palm against his raging cock was enough, the friction upon his erection bringing the full force of his arousal to bear, and he bucked upward on the bed as he came hard.&nbsp; Semen flooded from his testicles, pumping along the length of his shaft and soaking into the soft cloth of his wife's favorite bath towel as he convulsed and groaned in passion, his mind still burning with the images of his college-age babysitter writhing atop him.&nbsp; The orgasm lasted nearly a minute, the muscles of his thighs and abdomen clenching tight and spasming with energy each time his hips bucked upward, and by the time it wound to a close he laid gasping in the aftermath of the moment.<br><br>Shuddering with aftershocks, John struggled to a sitting position and swung his feet off the side of the bed to the carpeted floor.&nbsp; He felt as if he had just run a sprint, his body tinging madly, and despite the climax his cock was still hard and pulsing against the underside of the towel.&nbsp; Despite the fact that the room was dark with morning shadows, he could see the ample moisture already soaking through the towel - something he'd have to take care of before he left for work, or he'd hear from his wife about him using her good towels to clean up his deviance.<br><br>Fucking cunt.<br><br>Groaning once more, John struggled to his feet and glanced at the clock - already almost late, and no time for anything.&nbsp; He moved quickly to the bathroom and turned on the shower, then climbed right into the cold spray without waiting the requisite thirty seconds for the temperature to equalize.&nbsp; The shock felt amazingly good despite everything, and it seemed to help drag his mind back to reality and away from the fantastic images that still had him tingling - and somewhat embarrassed at his train of thought.<br><br><em>'m going to need to find a new babysitter.&nbsp; Someone fat and ugly, probably.</em><br><br>In minutes his body was rinsed clean of his morning orgasm, and he soaked the towel as well, washing away the remains of his powerful climax.&nbsp; He would still undoubtedly catch grief from his wife for leaving a towel soaked with water in the bottom of the tub, but it was better than having to explain why he left one of her favorite towels all sticky with his spunk.<br><br>He was on autopilot, his mind preoccupied with the visions of his dream - the vividly erotic images of Megan atop him, grinding down on his cock while his wife and his boss looked on, contemptuous sneers pasted across their faces.&nbsp; The visions continued to float through his mind as he dried himself off with yet another salmon bath towel, then headed back to the bedroom to pull on his slacks and shirt.&nbsp; It all seemed much of a blur, and in moments he was plucking his jacket from the back of a chair and heading for the door to the hallway.<br><br><hr><br>There was no telltale aroma of cooking from down the stairs this morning, simply the fresh scent of fruit and cleanliness.&nbsp; A cereal morning - which was probably for the best, as it would mean less awkward standing around and waiting for food to cook while she stared at him and he stared at her and the memories of the previous night filtered through their heads...<br><br>Was she even thinking about it?&nbsp; Perhaps it was all just a perceived awkwardness on his part, and there wasn't anything to be concerned with.&nbsp; Was it really that bad?&nbsp; I mean, they hadn't <em>done</em> anything, just stood a bit too awkwardly close while his nostrils flared with the scent of her body, and then hugged her close and tight to his ... chest ... while his ... erection raged underneath his ...<br><br>John shuddered as he approached the archway that led into the kitchen, and he paused there to collect his thoughts and force down the images that already threatened to swell his cock with blood once more.&nbsp; The last thing he needed was to be sporting a big thick erection as he strolled around his kitchen with Megan caring for his son.&nbsp; Inappropriate didn't even begin to define.<br><br>"Good morning Megan," he muttered quietly as he walked into the kitchen, his eyes determinedly fixed on the floor.&nbsp; He crossed to the far counter and grabbed up the loaf of sourdough bread, fished out a pair of slices and fed them into the toaster.&nbsp; "Good morning, son."<br><br>"Hewwo daddy," the boy fumbled past a mouthful of cereal and fruit, the sound automatically causing him to giggle and sending little flecks of cereal and fruit showering across the table.&nbsp; John raised his eyes to the boy and frowned a bit, then chuckled at James's silly expression past the mouthful of food.<br><br>"Don't talk with your mouth full, James," he said with a chuckle as he pushed the tab on the toaster down.&nbsp; <br><br><em>White t-shirt, denim shorts - all very understated, nothing at all overly sexy or arousing.&nbsp; Why was it, then, that he felt himself still fighting the tingles of desire?</em>&nbsp; <br><br>John felt the muscles in his jaw twitch as he curled his lips into a smile and focused his eyes on her, purposefully keeping his gaze level with her face.&nbsp; "Did you sleep alright, Megan?&nbsp; We'll need to stop by the ATM on the way to drop you off, I seem to have forgotten to stop for cash on the way home last night."
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>27-06-2010, 04:00:57</strong>
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				It had been...awkward, Megan decided.&nbsp; That whole morning-after-the-night-before-when-nothing-had-actually-happened.&nbsp; She frowned down at the&nbsp; tot-sized t-shirt in her hands as she folded it.&nbsp; It had been awkward and anticipatory, with a level of awareness that had shimmered in her belly as they'd shouldered their way through getting James ready for school and the car ride to the ATM.&nbsp; Now, four days later, Megan couldn't remember if his hands had brushed hers as he'd handed her some of the money he'd withdrawn, or if&nbsp; it was just the fantasy that had built in her head.&nbsp; A fantasy where he handed her the money as he'd pulled up in front of her dorm after they'd dropped James off, then took it right back out of her hands, symbolically removing the division of father and babysitter before he curled his hand around her neck and drew her in for a kiss.&nbsp; A long, hot steamy kiss, with tongues parrying and thrusting in&nbsp; an erotic duel, hands fumbling and reaching for each other as their passions rose.&nbsp; A fantasy where he'd pull her from the car, and sweep her up.&nbsp; He'd find her room with unerring accuracy and there would be no fumbling at the door with keys; they'd be in, the door closing behind him, and he would be on her.&nbsp; His hands streaking over her flesh, peeling away the clothing.&nbsp; Whispering to her, murmuring his desire.&nbsp; She would finally be able to touch him, everywhere.&nbsp; &nbsp;To drag her tongue over the skin of his neck, to feast on the rich flavor of his mouth.&nbsp; She would be free to run her hands over him and feel all those muscles quietly rippling, to feel his skin heat and his body throb as he laid her on the bed.&nbsp; To watch him as he rose above her, to arch up and meet him as he angled himself and lowered...<br><br>Megan clenched her fingers around the article of clothing in her hands, shaking her head.&nbsp; She was coloring that scene with the influence of the romance novels she enjoyed; logically she knew that- but the next part of her fantasy had nothing to do with romance.&nbsp; He'd fill her, he'd watch her with those dark and sober eyes and shudder above her on a long wave of pleasure.&nbsp; He'd draw his hips back, his hands finding hers and fingers linking, pressing into the mattress as she squirmed with the slick slide of him, her body clenching to prevent the loss of him.&nbsp; He'd grit his teeth, and whisper her name, and then he'd fill her completely, driving his cock home until he was buried deep&nbsp; ...and then he'd fuck her.&nbsp; Hard, pounding, his hips hammering at her, into her.&nbsp; Raw and hot and wild, with skin slapping skin and bodies growing slick with sweat, with his harsh grunts counterpointing every pleasured cry he wrought from her as he pounded into her.&nbsp; God, she'd imagined it a million ways and in a million places.&nbsp; For four days she'd seen him taking her over her desk in her dorm room, papers and books scattering.&nbsp; Up against the tiny sink in her room as she watched him in the mirror.&nbsp; Under her, rising up off her narrow bed with its chocolate and pink comforter to thrust up into her as she rode him, bouncing and rocking over him into ecstasy.&nbsp; Her cheeks heated now as she vividly remembered the dark thrill of other fantasies that had snuck into her head at odd times...his hands yanking her back into the stacks in the library, a hand over her mouth to keep her quiet as he lifted her skirt.&nbsp; &nbsp;Him kneeling in the communal shower with his mouth driving her mad, and her returning the favor, choking down the length of his cock as he groaned weakly, unaware of anything or anyone else but each other in the steam and under the spray.&nbsp; <br><br>Her hands shook once as she picked up a t-shirt that was obviously Mr. Lassiter's from the pile, folding it and tucking it into the laundry basket.&nbsp; Her fantasies hadn't stopped there, in her dorm room.&nbsp; She'd been here, <em>in his&nbsp; house</em>, every night this week.&nbsp; &nbsp;She figured there wasn't a surface in existence that she hadn't seen them locked in a naked and copulating frenzy in her mind's eye.&nbsp; The spare bedroom.&nbsp; The banister overlooking the great room.&nbsp; The kitchen counter.&nbsp; Pressed against the glass patio doors. Bent over the kitchen table- and the back of the couch.&nbsp; And the desk. And the sink.<br>Every bed, every wall, every surface, <em>everything</em>.&nbsp; Megan figured she'd mentally defiled the Lassiter house at this point with all those flashing little images that kept popping in her head.&nbsp; She'd been unable to stop them...and she'd been unable to stop herself from taking care of that little whip of restlessness that would sneak up and grab her.&nbsp; The middle of the afternoon in between classes, in her morning shower.&nbsp; Lord, wouldn't the Dragon-bitch just flip the hell out knowing Megan had laid in the spare bedroom the last 3 nights with the blankets aside, her legs parted and heels drawn up, her fingers sliding over her breasts and down her torso, diving under her panties to find her clit.&nbsp; Squirming on the bed, panting softly as her fingertip circled the slick and throbbing little knot of nerves faster and faster.&nbsp; Getting off imaging herself and the woman's husband in every conceivable sexual position and act she could think of....<br>&nbsp;<br>Megan's lips twisted into a sneer, her motions jerky as she slapped a pair of folded shorts onto the stack of completed laundry and snatched up the next article of clothing from the dryer, barely noting it was Mr. Lassiter's boxers she folded and added to the basket.&nbsp; She was beyond irritated at Carole Lassiter, for reasons too countless to number.&nbsp; The woman was the bane of her existence lately, and Megan was about at her wits end.&nbsp; &nbsp;Sweeping back into town the day after the...incident, ordering Megan around like she was some servant or something, just before waltzing off in a gagging cloud of expensive perfume (going on what Megan highly suspected was a sex-date, but was keeping her mouth shut on that account).&nbsp; The night after, same thing.&nbsp; And the next.&nbsp; There was little worse, in Megan's mind, than a mother ignoring her own child, talking coldly to him when she did deign to acknowledge his existence for the few hours she was home in between long stretches of absences.&nbsp; And here, just tonight.&nbsp; The woman hadn't said&nbsp; one word to James all evening, had merely barked orders to Megan like she was some beck-and-call personal assistant...and then had whipped around and yelled at her in such a volatile way for something ridiculously inconsequential that it had left James quaking and crying in fear.&nbsp; &nbsp; Megan sympathized...she'd wanted to quake and cry too.&nbsp; The woman was more fearsome than the seventh circle of hell.<br><br>Megan&nbsp; tucked the last of the socks together and placed them in the basket, then simply rested her forearms over the plastic edges, her head bowed as she stood in the laundry room.&nbsp; Thank God the woman was gone.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp;Jetting off to Miami, if she'd heard correctly, although before she'd left Mrs. Lassiter had given her very specific, and, unless Megan suddenly had the hearing and intelligence of a turnip, very inaccurate information to pass along to Mr. Lassiter.&nbsp; &nbsp;At her insistence, Megan had been summoned to the master bedroom to gather Mrs. Lassiter's clothing to be taken to the dry cleaners before she left for the next whatever meeting.&nbsp; Already juggling the clothes and trying to keep James from touching anything that might incur his mother's icy contempt- which meant the child could barely stand with both feet on the rug at the same time- Megan had answered the ringing cell phone herself, under Mrs. Lassiter's demand after it had been thrust at her.&nbsp; She'd barely spoken the name of the caller, and the phone had been&nbsp; yanked out of her hand and she'd been shoved, literally, into the hall with the door shut in her face..only to&nbsp; open again to have James shoved out after her.<br><br>Megan seethed at the memory.<br><br>Then the flurry of activity had begun.&nbsp; A frenzy of orders and demands hurled at Megan to pull out clothing for her, to find specific jewelry and certain shoes, only to be yelled at for being too slow, for not making the right selection, for not placing items away in their precise spot in the precise position.&nbsp; Megan had been sorely tempted to tell the psycho precisely where she could stick her holier-than-thou attitude and demeaning tone; the only thing holding her back had been the knowledge that she would have been summarily dismissed from her responsibilities with the family- and then Megan would have had no way to protect James from his mother's special kind of sick neglect.&nbsp; As soon as she had been able, Megan had extricated them both and ushered James outside to the backyard for a bit, leaving the ranting woman to her own devices.<br><br>Hefting the laundry basket with a little sigh, Megan gave herself a mental pat on the back for holding her tongue and handling it as well as she had.&nbsp; It had been over in less than an hour, with Carole Lassiter traipsing out the door without a backwards glance to the sleek little car of her...she supposed that in polite society the guy would have been termed a paramour, but Megan wasn't feeling very polite. Out she'd gone to the car of what Megan was certain was the woman's boytoy du jour without a backwards glance, leaving both Megan and James finally alone and more than a little emotionally rocky.<br><br>James hadn't gone to bed well that night; Megan had made some allowances and spent extra time snuggling the four-year-old on her lap and reading his favorite book to him quietly again and again, her cheek resting on his soft head and her heart cracking more than a little for both James and his Daddy.&nbsp; No matter how you looked at it, no matter what happened in their lives, they had a long, rough road ahead of them before they could find some sort of peacefulness in their family.<br><br>She'd finally tucked James into bed, and had made her usual rounds of tidying the house, weariness setting in.&nbsp; She'd given serious thought to ignoring the signaling buzz of the dryer in favor of pretending she hadn't heard it and falling into the bed in the upstairs bedroom- it was a shame she hadn't been able to go through with it.&nbsp; She openly admitted to herself that part of wanting to avoid doing the chore was out of apprehension, as Mr. Lassiter was due home any minute.&nbsp; The last few days there had been the buffer of his wife's presence that had kept things...contained.&nbsp; &nbsp; The last 3 nights she'd been tucked into the spare bedroom before either of&nbsp; them had returned home at night, so she'd neatly avoided any encounters that were sure to be a test with the turn her imagination had taken.&nbsp; In the mornings, Dragon-bitch would whisk in, pause her conversation on her Crackberry long enough to snap out some command or cutting remark to either her husband or Megan, and be gone again.&nbsp; She'd met Mr. Lassiter's eyes right after a little scene the other morning, and Megan swore she'd seen...something in his eyes.&nbsp; Something that pitted them both on the same side, gave her a little feeling of kinship.&nbsp; A common enemy.<br><br>It was nice, that kinship, she decided, balancing the laundry basket on her raised knee and wrapping her hand around the doorway to the kitchen to flip the light switches.&nbsp; It had taken the sharpest edge of uncomfortable awareness- which her rabid imagination had spun into a crazy-tight sexual tension- and dulled it a bit, made it manageable.&nbsp; <br><br>But she still wanted the man to fuck her cross-eyed.<br><br>With the soft under-cabinet lighting glowing softly still, Megan huffed out a quiet breath that fluttered the tendrils of hair that had escaped the topknot she'd bundled it in earlier, and hitched laundry basket up on her hip, her bare feet padding on the steps lightly.&nbsp; It was just a safe fantasy, she reminded herself as she moved down the hall, carefully easing into James' room to stack his laundry neatly on his dresser for the time being.&nbsp; Yeah, she felt that fluttery anticipation, and little fireworks would go off under her skin when she thought about it, about him.&nbsp; &nbsp;She felt it tingle along her skin in the mornings as they took James to school and he dropped her off at the dorm- that humming between them.&nbsp; She was pretty damn sure he was feeling something too, and she marveled that it was still strong and snapping, but more...comfortable.&nbsp; She'd come to expect it now.&nbsp; <br><br>It was possible that it was just that she was a reasonably attractive and relatively intelligent female in the immediate proximity, where John Lassiter had nothing but a cold and unfeeling psycho of a wife.&nbsp; She also knew, deep down, that there was a little more to it.&nbsp; Not hearts and flowery stuff, or a one-true-love thing.&nbsp; She might be a romantic, but she had some common sense.&nbsp; This was more...raw.&nbsp; Snapping heat and a...a... potential that kick-started her adrenaline.&nbsp; So what if she allowed mind to twist and turn over various scenarios involving erotic couplings with&nbsp; her boss?&nbsp; She was an adult, after all, and a healthy one.&nbsp; No reason she couldn't indulge in the daydreams.&nbsp; No reason not to languish in the mental image of being guided by his hands to stand in front of him.&nbsp; Those large hands nudging her thighs apart, lifting the hem of her denim sundress out of the way.&nbsp; His fingers, masculine and strong, curling in the dainty cotton of her panties, tugging them slowly down to her knees to tangle and trap her, his hands nudging her thighs apart even more.&nbsp; His fingertips sliding up the inside of her thighs, teasing along the sensitive skin as she trembled.&nbsp; Watching his nostrils flare as he inhaled her scent, watching his eyes darken as he studied her young body.&nbsp; His hand turning palm up, his thumb and fifth finger curling in slightly.&nbsp; His extended fingers testing, teasing against her, intimately exploring...<br><br>Behind her, James made a soft snuffling noise in his sleep that&nbsp; pulled her out of her reverie and made her cheeks flush.&nbsp; <em>Really, Megan?&nbsp; You're really going to stand in a four-year-olds room having carnal thoughts about his father...?&nbsp; Get ahold of yourself.</em>&nbsp; Shaking her head, she ignored the tingling pressure building in her body and lifted the laundry basket again, edging cautiously back into the hallway.&nbsp; <br><br>One thing for sure, the Dragon-bitch's showplace spare bedroom was going to, in short order,&nbsp; be filled with the sounds of Megan's soft sighs of pleasure as she gave free reign to the erotic images of John Lassiter's hands bringing her to climax.<br><br>She refused to feel guilty.&nbsp; They were just her own private daydreams, she reminded herself as she reached for the double doors of the master bedroom.&nbsp; Just because they featured her employer...just because said daydreams were based on that potential she felt....she wasn't going to feel remiss at wanting him to rip her clothes off, throw her down and fuck her.<br><br><em>"Fuck me."</em> <br><br>Megan felt her jaw drop- literally drop- as she surveyed the disaster area of the master bedroom.&nbsp; Clothes littered the bed and the floor, slipping haphazardly from hangers or just tossed heedlessly about.&nbsp; Jewelry and shoes dotted the jumble of clothing in what she supposed had been a haphazard attempt at accessorizing.&nbsp; A bottle of the fancy water the woman favored was lying on its side, the cap loosened so the water had spilled across the polished wood of the dresser amid even more articles of clothing.&nbsp; Drawers stood open, all the lights blazed, and through the open doorway to the bathroom she could see discarded pots and tubes and jars of makeup and fancy creams spilling across the countertop.&nbsp; <br><br>Megan gave a long slow blink of disbelief, then let out a sound of disgust.&nbsp; Mrs. Do-it-my-way-and-make-it-perfect had left the room so improbably churned that for the barest moment Megan feared there had been a robbery attempt.&nbsp; A search and seizure.&nbsp; <em>SOMETHING. </em><br><br>She cursed softly again, and more steadily as she looked around a second time, and a third.&nbsp; There was no way she could simply walk back out and pretend she'd never seen it, and she wasn't going to just leave it here.... whether it was a sense of propriety or just a disbelief that anyone could so blatantly take off at a whim and leave all this behind for someone else to deal with, or hell, some other reason she just couldn't fathom, Megan wouldn't, couldn't walk out and leave it all for Mr. Lassiter to have to sort through when he finally made it home.&nbsp; &nbsp;It would serve her right if he walked in right now and saw it, bagged it and gave it all to charity. <br>She&nbsp; cut a glance to the doorway, half hoping he would be there just for that.<br><br>Carefully, with the even, measured actions of someone chafing at the having to restrain frustration, she shut the doors to the master bedroom quietly so as not to disturb James any.&nbsp; She placed the basket of laundry down and righted the spilled water bottle, then took a deep breath, and dug in.&nbsp; <br>She stalked across the room and scooped up a armful of jewelry and shoes,&nbsp; her ire rising as she carried them over to the large built-in closet with its cedar shelves.&nbsp; She dumped the jewelry haphazardly into the velvet-lined drawers, shoved the shoes by pairs willy-nilly into the cubbyholes, not bothering to determine their proper placement in the ruthlessly organized closet.&nbsp; <br><br>With every step she took, her anger rose.&nbsp; With every trip into the closet to right the damage wrought,&nbsp; her indignation sharpened.<br><br>How <em>DARE</em> she.&nbsp; How dare that woman treat everyone and everything in her path with such blatant disregard?&nbsp; What level of cold-hearted, iron-clad, whore-mongering BITCH did you have to achieve to be so self-centered and self-absorbed?<br><br>Again with her arms loaded with a jumble of clothing and hangers, Megan stomped her way into the closet, her frustration spiking so that her hands shook and her cheeks were hot with it.&nbsp; She was walking a fine line, and she knew it- and there was little to be done about it.&nbsp; Her temper, barely restrained, flickered sulkily and begged to be unleashed.&nbsp; She clamped down on it, her jaw tight, and stabbed the hangers in the direction of the hanging rod, struggling to keep her calm.<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>13-07-2010, 01:28:59</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Describing the last few days as chaotic would be disrespectful to the word chaotic.&nbsp; John's hours were spent in a semi-daze of disbelief and consternation, just enough that he could feel somewhat like a person looking in on another man's odd story.&nbsp; Would that he could simply be reading an odd novel about the tribulations of an appliance salesman and his whorish bitch of a wife, energizer rabbit of a son and the babysitter he still tingled with lust for every time he caught a whiff of her shampoo.<br><br>Without any real direction as to how he would handle the situation between himself and Megan, John simply carried out his days and did everything he could to ensure they wouldn't have to uncomfortably cross paths for any longer than was absolutely necessary.&nbsp; He stayed at the store until later in the night for three days in a row, and then made a point to stop by the pub just up the street from his house to have a couple of drinks before making that final mile-long stretch to the uncomfortable dwelling that he called home.<br><br>To this point it had worked out remarkably well.&nbsp; The house was blissfully quiet when he walked in each night, with his son and his son's babysitter sequestered away in their rooms - leaving him only to have to deal with his wife and her own particular style of bitchiness.&nbsp; If anyone had told him ten years prior that marrying a career-minded woman could end up like this, he would have dismissed the feelings as some sort of textbook male inadequacy - yet here he was, unmistakably shoehorned into the submissive role in a two-career relationship by a woman who not only earned more money than he, but also made a point of reminding him in countless little ways that she earned the lion's share of their household income.<br><br>Funny thing was, John had come to cherish those trips, be they only days long or sometimes stretching into weeks.&nbsp; Was she being unfaithful to him while she was off somewhere around the globe, entertaining clients and business associates in furtherance of whatever goal she was focused on at that time?&nbsp; Secondly, and more important - did he really care whether she was faithful or not?<br><br>Surely, it would be a strain on his finances if they were to separate.&nbsp; It would be tough on their son, yet was that something that he could simply hide behind a smile for the next fourteen years as his son grew to adulthood?&nbsp; When the boy graduated high school, would he look with surprise at his father when the realization of the failed marriage between his parents was finally brought to public light?&nbsp; No, most likely he would simply nod his head and confirm the fact that he knew about the trouble in the household long before he knew it to be trouble.&nbsp; Kids were smart like that.<br><br>"Give me one more, Rich," he told the bartender as he slid his empty highball glass across the dark mahogany bar toward the rubber-cushioned ledge along the far edge.&nbsp; It was his second, and the warm tingle in his stomach seemed to help distract him a bit from the looming shadows that weighed in upon him.&nbsp; It didn't, however, seem to do anything to allay the mental images that his mind was cheerfully providing him at almost every turn.&nbsp; Images of Megan in various states of undress, various states of sexual impropriety in various places throughout their house, places between the house and work, the school, even John's work.&nbsp; Made it a bit tough to move a sale on an industrial washing machine when your subconscious was preoccupied with an image of Megan's tight round ass hanging off the edge as John fucked her madly, all to the thumping rhythm of an off-balanced load of clothes set onto spin-cycle.<br><br>"You sure, John?" the bartender asked, one bushy eyebrow lifting as he appraised the man who rarely had more than one, much less three drinks on the way home from work.&nbsp; "It's getting late, ya know."<br><br>John tilted his head back and met the man's eyes, and his lips pursed into a tight line as his forehead creased and descended into a vee of wrinkles between his eyebrows.&nbsp; "Yeah, I think I'm sure - and don't worry, I'll walk home if it makes you feel better."<br><br>"Suit yourself," the taller man said before upturning the bottle of rum into a clean ice-filled glass, filling it with a healthy shot and then chasing it with a fill of dark cola.&nbsp; <br><br>"You married, Rich?" John asked of the bartender as he wrapped his hands around the fresh glass of alcohol.<br><br>"Nope, I'm leaving it to alcohol and cigarettes to ruin my life.&nbsp; They cost less."<br><br>John's lips curled into a small smile at the bartender's comment, then he lifted the glass and drank deeply.&nbsp; Ruining life, indeed.&nbsp; Of course, there had to be someone somewhere who had a marriage that wasn't completely one of convenience or one of abject misery and pain - but he was damned if he could ever seem to find it.<br><br>It took him only minutes to finish draining the glass, which he slid across the bar along with a $20.&nbsp; it was enough to cover the three drinks along with a respectable tip, and he really wasn't in the mood for any more post-consumption conversation with the bartender.&nbsp; They always seemed to have the answers, bartenders - yet were they speaking from a position of sage wisdom, or simply a position of someone who'd walked through the fire enough times to confirm to you that it was fucking hot?&nbsp; He didn't know - all he knew at that moment was he had no answers, and didn't expect to find any for his particular brand of hell.<br><br>The walk to the front door of the pub confirmed to him that while he was not drunk, he'd had more than enough alcohol in the last hour to tip him over the legal limit for DUI.&nbsp; The thought of spending a night in jail really wasn't that unpleasant, but dealing with the inevitable shitstorm that would follow once his wife found that he'd been popped for drinking and driving - it wasn't worth the pain and suffering.&nbsp; Besides, he <em>was</em> only a few blocks from his house, and the cool air could do him some good.<br><br>The walk took all of perhaps fifteen minutes, as he was a fairly quick walker.&nbsp; His stride was what people had referred to as 'healthy' as he outdistanced most casual striders, yet it wasn't nearly fast enough to be considered a jog.&nbsp; Along the way he let his eyes scan the neighboring houses and yards, and his mind perused the images as they were collected.&nbsp; How many of his neighbors were stuck in similar situations as he, with terrible marriages to overbearing and controlling bitches of wives?&nbsp; How many had to deal with kids that they'd never been given the opportunity to voice a desire for?&nbsp; How many of his neighboring men earned less than half of what their wives earned?<br><br>How many of his neighbors were actively fucking their babysitters?&nbsp; He suspected there had to be at least one or two.<br><br>The weariness of mental exertion began to weigh on him as he climbed the drive and mounted the concrete steps that led up to the front door.&nbsp; Each step seemed more of an effort, dragging his feet along behind him as he fished his keys from his pocket.&nbsp; He would have to remember to set his alarm fifteen minutes earlier in the morning so he had time to walk back to the pub and pick up his car.<br><br>The key slid into the lock almost silently, only the sound of the spring-loaded pins shifting in position as the barrel was aligned with the teeth of the key.&nbsp; A soft 'clack' as the bolt was pulled back, and in another heartbeat John was inside and standing in the darkened entryway of his beautiful house.&nbsp; He closed his eyes and leaned back against the front door, then inhaled deeply as the smells of his home filled him.&nbsp; It smelled clean and tidy, with that particular non-scent that one developed an affinity for after living in a certain place for enough days, weeks or months.&nbsp; There was no doubt that it was his home - at least, as much as anything was his.&nbsp; <br><br>John's eyes popped open as he heard a soft thump from upstairs, and his heart lurched.&nbsp; No one should be up at this hour.&nbsp; James would surely be asleep - and he heard no television from the living room, indicating to him that Megan was most likely upstairs and asleep as well.&nbsp; He had thought his wife was going to be gone on another trip by the time he had gotten home, but he had been wrong in the past - perhaps this was one of those times.<br><br>Moving quietly, silently through the house, John made his way up the stairs and down the hallway toward the dim light that projected from behind the open door to the master bedroom.&nbsp; Another thump, and a rattle of plastic on plastic that sounded like someone was unceremoniously thrashing through something beyond the bedroom door.<br><br>"Carole, are you home?" he called out, though admittedly his soft words could easily have been missed by anyone on the other side.&nbsp; John continued to close on the door, and eventually reached out to push it slowly open, revealing the devastation beyond.&nbsp; to one side, a brilliant white light emanated from their huge walk-in closet, and from within the light he saw a rapidly moving shadow that accompanied the thumps, rattles and now muted curses of rage.&nbsp; <br><br>The sounds now matched the scents as he inhaled the aura of Megan's shampoo, and his lungs swelled as a thump in his chest began to pound back against the inside of his ribcage.&nbsp; <em>Megan was in his room, in his closet.</em><br><br>John took another two steps forward, crossing the room and moving between the huge bed and where the twin doors to the closet stood open.&nbsp; Within, Megan was a flurry of activity and irritation as she sorted through his and his wife's clothes, placing them on hangars and shoving them unceremoniously up onto the rods.&nbsp; He stopped there at the doorway as the warmth of the rum tingled in his stomach and sent a flooding heat crawling up his torso and into his limbs.&nbsp; Goddamn, she was fucking hot.<br><br>Without saying anything, John stood there and simply watched, admiring the curves of her body, the soft angles of her arms and legs, the dark cascade of hair that flowed down her shoulders and along her spine.&nbsp; He didn't know if he had ever experienced a desire so intense, and it made him wonder at that moment whether it was simple desire, or the fact that he couldn't act on it that made it exponentially more intense.&nbsp; For now, however, there was nothing wrong in simply standing and staring, and watching her in her furious beauty as she took out her anger on hangar and clothing alike.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>16-07-2010, 03:16:13</strong>
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				Megan kicked at the length of a slinky beaded dress that had tangled around her bare leg and slapped another two hangers on the curtain rod, shoving at the fabric irritably to jam it into some semblance of order.&nbsp; Her arms were tired, a headache teased the base of her skull, and the discomfort of both added just one more layer of ...'mad' was the only way to term it...to the whole situation.&nbsp; She juggled the clothes draped over her arm and then froze as a prickle of awareness washed over her skin.&nbsp; She knew, somehow she just <em>knew</em> he was there.&nbsp; Megan whirled, nearly losing her grip on the bundle of clothes still in her arms.&nbsp; She stood still, steady as she faced him in his own closet.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;He stood, watching her with ...God, was she really seeing this?...his gaze dark and ripe.&nbsp; She thought she read open hunger, naked lust on his face.&nbsp; &nbsp; It made her stomach flip over on itself, the way he was looking at her;&nbsp; it made her want, instantly.&nbsp; It crashed through her, the answering of her body to what she saw in him.&nbsp; She could smell him- his scent had been teasing at her subconscious, under the punch of Carole's perfume in the confines of the closet.&nbsp; It reached her now, male and hot and with an underlying spice of rum, straight from the source.&nbsp; As she filled her lungs with&nbsp; it, with him, the walls seemed to close in.&nbsp; &nbsp;She could almost feel him, feel his gaze stroking over her skin as if it was the touch of his hands.&nbsp; Sliding over her legs, lingering at her hips, traveling up her torso and catching at her breasts.&nbsp; Zeroing in on her lips, sifting back down. The visual caress stoked the fire that was gleefully licking just under her skin, leaving her with the feeling that her skin was just a little too tight.&nbsp; &nbsp;The flip-flopping in her belly, the brush of heat, the way her pulse kicked wildly at the sight of him pushed her already-rooted annoyance into a flash of anger.<br><br>&nbsp;Her free hand shoved restlessly at the dark tendrils of hair that had escaped their elastic band, chin lifting as though daring him to assume, even for a moment that this whole scene was of her own design.&nbsp; “I’m supposed to tell you,” she began, her tone cool and her words stilted with a double layer of frustration for both her instant reaction to him and the words she was about to say,&nbsp; “That your wife has left unexpectedly for a meeting in San Francisco, and she likely won’t be back before her scheduled meetings in Madrid.&nbsp; That is what I am <em>supposed </em>to tell you.”&nbsp; &nbsp;Disgusted, indignant, and ultimately insulted that she’d been dragged into the middle of the whole thing to begin with, Megan threw down the items in her arms, ignoring the way they spilled over her feet and the carpeting of the closet.&nbsp; Her hands balled into fists, her jaw was tight.&nbsp; “What I will add,"&nbsp; She snapped, little threads of self control fraying,&nbsp; " is that she’s a lying, manipulative, unfeeling bitch, with no concern for anyone but herself.&nbsp; How the hell can you stand it,” she demanded.&nbsp; “This.”&nbsp; She waved her arms in a wide motion, flinging one hand out to indicate the disaster of the bedroom behind him.&nbsp; “Her.”&nbsp; &nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;Restless, riled, she turned to pace in the closet that was practically as big as her whole dorm room. She skirted the pile of clothing she'd thrown down, turning her back on his presence- and came face-to-face with his suits and shirts.&nbsp; For some reason that only infuriated her more, seeing his clothes, his things-&nbsp; him- sharing that space with <em>her</em>. With the Dragon-bitch. <br><br>Her temper strained, and finally broke it's leash.<br><br>"Goddammit.&nbsp; <em>Goddammit</em>," she exploded.&nbsp; She jerked around, bristling with anger, testy with frustration and arousal.&nbsp; &nbsp; Beyond thinking, she stalked towards him, stopping mere inches away.&nbsp; Her voice was tight and her chest heaving under the thin cotton of her tshirt with the effort of trying to control her reactions.&nbsp; "Why in the hell haven't you done something about it already?"&nbsp; <br><br>Toe to toe with him, she stared up at his face, waiting for something....anything...doing her desperate best to ignore the sly little voice in her head questioning just which situation she'd been referring to with those last words. <br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>24-07-2010, 22:35:12</strong>
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			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan came at him with all of the intensity and ferocity of a cornered feral cat, and for a moment John envisioned hair standing up down her spine as her eyes burned with fury.&nbsp; Her fervor combined with the fuzzy-headed tingle provided by the drinks almost conspired to push him a step back, but he managed to hold his ground in the face of her clear and present anger.&nbsp; The heat of her breath, even the temperature of her body washed over him as she flooded him with a tirade of young adult angst, her eyes flaring with a light of bold intensity that seemed to beg him to stand and challenge her.<br><br>Despite the girl's boiling frustration at ... <em>something - she was definitely pissed about something</em>,&nbsp; ... John couldn't seem to think.&nbsp; His mind reeled, desperately trying to sort out the overload of sensation that had been poured on him inadvertently after taking a moment to admire the view of her uninterrupted from the closet door.<br><br><em>He'd been staring at her ass.&nbsp; Was she pissed because he was staring at her ass?</em><br><br>There was something - she was drumming on about his wife, about how she'd told Megan to tell him that she wouldn't be back until after her trip to Europe.&nbsp; There was more, but it seemed lost in the fire of her angst, and no matter how much John wished he could sort it out at that moment - the only thing he <em>could</em> manage to concentrate on was the scent of her in his nostrils.&nbsp; In fact, the more her tirade stretched out, the more intense the sensation became, until it was like an intoxicating floral essence being driven into him with all of the subtlety of a sledgehammer in the hands of a pissed-off gorilla.<br><br>"Why in the hell haven't you done something about it already?" she shouted up at him, her chocolate brown hair moving like angry waves over her shoulders as she stood on tiptoes in order to more effectively relay her heated question.<br><br><em>Something about what??&nbsp; Goddamn, she smelled so fucking good.</em><br><br>John's hands clenched into fists as he stared down at her for a silent moment, the closet filled with nothing but the sound of her rapid breathing and the high-pitched ringing in his ears provided him by alcohol and a surge of adrenalin.&nbsp; Done something about it??&nbsp; He'd do something about it, for fuck's sake.<br><br>In a move fueled of desire and intensity and tempered with a healthy application of alcohol, John closed the gap between himself and her.&nbsp; His hands raised and grasped her upper arms just below her shoulders, strong fingers clamping down around her biceps and his thumbs on the upper ball of her humerus bone.&nbsp; Without another thought he hauled her up and toward him, lifting her until his mouth pressed against hers.<br><br>There was no grace or sensuality in the kiss, nor was there tenderness or caring.&nbsp; There was simply hunger and need, as raw and burning as a jagged cut under an alcohol pad.&nbsp; John held her tightly in his unyielding grip as he pressed his mouth to hers, nostrils flaring with the scent of her raging through him.&nbsp; He wanted her, needed her, could think of absolutely nothing else but the heat and passion that he felt like he was at that moment drowning in.
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>03-08-2010, 20:44:04</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<em>Thank god</em>.<br><br>&nbsp;She could have sobbed it, those words, in the two seconds before her brain shut down, before her circuits were fried.&nbsp; His mouth was hot and hard, demanding on hers, and she could offer no resistance to the penetrating command of his tongue, the sweeping insistence that she open to him, give to him.&nbsp; He tasted of fire, of ache, and the sweet intoxicating rum.&nbsp; He was wild and dark, and the flavor of him flooded her mouth as the churning, raging heat flooded her body.&nbsp; <br><br>Her hands, splayed against his chest in surprise as he'd pulled her onto him, curled now in his shirt, fisting as she arched up.&nbsp; He was hard angles and planes to her softness,&nbsp; her breasts crushed to his chest, her hips instantly cradling his, pelvis scooping automatically to seek more intimate contact.&nbsp; He filled her head, he took her mouth, he left her no choice but to acquiesce to his every demand as he laid siege to her senses.&nbsp; <br><br>His kiss dragged her under, held her suspended, locked her into mindless need.&nbsp; She was unaware of her gasping breaths, her quiet whimpers, her ragged moans.&nbsp; &nbsp;If he answered them, she never heard.&nbsp; She only knew the tearing, greedy claws that ripped at her, the slippery&nbsp; coils of heat that unknotted low in her belly.&nbsp; She only knew him, his mouth, his hands, and that moment.&nbsp; <br><br>She wanted him.&nbsp; She needed him.&nbsp; <em>Now</em>.<br><br>Megan ripped her mouth away from his, struggled to swallow around her suddenly dry throat as she pulled in breath after shallow breath.&nbsp; Somewhere in the back of her mind it registered, the punch of alcohol on him, and the frantic race of his mouth couldn't fully wipe away the little voice of self-preservation that needled at her.&nbsp; &nbsp; She shuddered, and though it cost her, she slapped a hand against his chest.<br><br>"How drunk are you," she demanded.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>05-10-2010, 14:54:32</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				John paused for one lucid moment, his body buzzing with arousal and every nerve tingling in hyper-awareness as he stared down into her eyes.&nbsp; The scent of her was overwhelming in his nose as he breathed deep, drawing her deeply into his lungs as his tongue brushed along his bottom lip.&nbsp; Salt, rum and the lingering softness of whatever lip applique she had decided to grace him with when he'd pulled her mouth to his.&nbsp; Goddamn, it tasted good.<br><br>"Sober enough to know I should stop," he muttered in a low whisper as he turned with her still trapped in his grasp, rotating around until he faced back out into the bedroom.&nbsp; "Drunk enough to ignore the warning."<br><br>His biceps tightened and he squeezed her arms once more, then released them to move his hands directly to her waist.&nbsp; His eyes flashed with a feral glow of need as he pressed his palms down and slid them over her hips, then down to grasp at her ass and pull her again, tightly to his chest.&nbsp; Fingers dug into her jeans, mashing her pelvis against him as he bent his knees, and in one motion he slid down, pressed and stood with her held tightly to his waist.<br><br><em>What in the hell am I doing?</em> he wondered idly, a tiny voice of reason calling out in the back of his mind, barely heard through the raging call of adrenalin and testosterone that flowed rapidly through him.&nbsp; <em>Am I out of my mind?</em>&nbsp; It was almost as if he was outside himself and watching as a spectator as he carried her out of the closet and toward the bed, his blood pounding in his ears loudly.&nbsp; Only one answer seemed to come from all of the momentary introspection as he dropped her unceremoniously onto the thick pillowtop and reached greedily for the button and zipper of her jeans.&nbsp; <em>Who cares?</em> called the reply as he hungrily pulled her jeans open and began to drag them down the curves of her thighs.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>13-10-2010, 19:56:35</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<br>Her breath whooshed out at the contact with the mattress, only to get sucked back in harshly on a gasp as his hands found the waistband and dragged the button free, yanked the denim open.&nbsp; &nbsp; Her stomach muscles jumped at the brush of his hands on her torso, her heart stopped, then thundered when the denim cleared her hips, peeled away down her thighs.&nbsp; <br><br>Every thought was gone, every need to think had flown.&nbsp; Her knees rose and bent, her heels dug into the mattress to lift her hips to help him.&nbsp; She lifted her hands to her shirt,&nbsp; then abandoned direction and reached for him instead, not stopping at the barrier of cloth but pulling, tugging to sleek her fingers against the heat of his torso.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>She felt like she was on fire, skin burning hot and dry, flaring brighter, hotter at every touch of his hands on her.&nbsp; She kicked carelessly to free her legs, ignored the way the denim wound around her ankle and flapped uselessly&nbsp; in mid air when she scissored her legs around his thighs, lifted&nbsp; them to hook her ankles at the small of his back.&nbsp; The action brought her into alignment with his body, center to center, and she rubbed wantonly against the raging proof of his desire.&nbsp; Arching, moaning raggedly, she rocked herself against him, then dropped down to the mattress, bowing up again to repeat the movements, using her body to entice, to encourage, to exult.<br><br>&nbsp;Megan needed his taste again like she needed her next breath, she needed more of him, and blindly she pulled, tugged, arched off the bed, her mouth seeking.&nbsp; Her nails raked over his skin as she sought more flesh, her mouth landed, traveled in desperate hops from his chest to his forearm to the tanned column of his throat.&nbsp; <br><br>It was madness, it was desperate, and she was beyond caring.&nbsp; &nbsp;This was what she wanted, this was what she craved.&nbsp; This, him ranged above her, staring down at her with that look.&nbsp; His own rough breathing, the pounding of his blood just under the skin, felt with fingertips and mouth.&nbsp; <br>His scent, his heat, the hard of his body to the soft of hers.&nbsp; &nbsp;She wanted this, all this, and so much more.&nbsp; <br><br>Groaning out his name, she tested the use of his first name as she gave voice to the need for him.&nbsp; "John."&nbsp; Splayed back on the bed, she slicked her hand between them, knuckles brushing the hard ridge behind his fly, fingers flattening against the cotton of her panties before stroking&nbsp; over her torso, sliding up and cupping one small, firm breast in invitation, in hunger for his touch to echo it.&nbsp; &nbsp;Her hips lifted, the soft curves of her ass riding the muscles of his thighs, unable to stop the instinctive rocking rhythm.&nbsp; "John," she breathed again, and shuddered.<br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>06-11-2010, 14:43:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The sensation of her body arching up against him, her cotton-shrouded cunt grazing against his jeans - it was enough to nearly make him pass out.&nbsp; His heart was pounding like a jackhammer within his chest, and his skin tingled as if he'd been dipped in fire wherever her hands caressed, clenched, grazed against him.&nbsp; He felt like a fucking teenager again, getting his first taste of a woman.<br><br>The sound of his name upon her lips sent another raging surge of need through him, his nerves aflame with sensation as his hands clumsily groped and clenched at her firm, supple and soft body.&nbsp; It had literally been years since he'd heard his name spoken like that - by a woman who was literally humming with desire ... for him.<br><br>"Megan," he answered as she dragged him forward, his eyes catching hers only for a moment before his lust-weighted eyelids drooped down to leave his gaze fixed solely upon her full, pink lips.&nbsp; Her breath was ragged, uneven and hot upon his own lips as they hovered for a moment above hers - only for a moment before he pressed his mouth against hers tightly and kissed her with an impassioned hunger that he'd not realized that he possessed.&nbsp; His hips rocked down and forward, pressing the length of his bulge against her heated panties, flattening the nub of her clitoris against her pubic bone as her labia were spread against the hard ridge of his zipper.<br><br><em>He needed her.&nbsp; He had to have her.&nbsp; Now.</em><br><br>John raised one hand and grazed his fingertips along her side, half cherishing the soft perfection of her skin and half fumbling as he tried not to rush too haphazardly in his need to feel her breast underneath his fingers.&nbsp; His hips rocked back as her hand slid down and between their midsections, and he groaned in lust as he felt her knuckles slide along the pulsing length of his shaft separated only by the material of his slacks and boxers.<br><br>"... We should stop," he croaked as the last vestige of his sensibilities made a last-ditch attempt to wrest order from the hot, lusty chaos that had captured him.&nbsp; Sensibilities that were being pummeled by a raw, aching desire that wanted nothing more than to plunge his raging hard cock deep into her, driving hard and full to the depths of her until he flooded her with his passion.<br><br><em>Please... Please unbutton my pants,</em> his body cried out silently, and then he kissed her hungrily, wantonly, the kiss fueled by all of his pent up lust and desire.&nbsp; His lips pressed firm against hers, hot and wet as he gasped for breath , and his tongue snaked out to writhe between her own lips in search of her tongue. His hips rocked back and forth to graze the seam of his trousers against the knuckles of her hand, echoing physically the need that rang like Sunday church-bells inside his head.&nbsp; <em>Unbutton my pants so that I can fuck you nice and hard and deep, just like you want me to...</em>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Gaelyn</strong> on <strong>19-12-2010, 18:50:14</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Megan squirmed on the bed, underneath him, shifting to try to gain leverage.&nbsp; She wanted to be closer, to be around him.&nbsp; Now.&nbsp; <br><br>She found the tab of his slacks and yanked, tugged, freed the button, then gave up and grabbed the material, yanking the sides apart, heady with satisfaction when the fabric parted and she could shove it, and the cotton beneath, down his hips.&nbsp; <br><br>Her dove between them again, desperate and determined until the hard and hot length of him filled her palm.&nbsp; <br><br>Shudders rode over her spine at the intimate contact.&nbsp; He was throbbing in her grasp, hot enough to brand her palm.&nbsp; Her fingers curled around him, stroked in a jerky movement to the base, tightening as her thumb came to rest just under the flared head of his very eager cock.&nbsp; <br><br>Her free hand slid from the slope of his shoulder to shove at the tangle of hair against her cheek as he reacted to her touch.&nbsp; "Doesn't feel like you think we should stop," she murmured breathlessly, her voice husky and thick.&nbsp; She squeezed his length again, her hips grinding up against him more insistently, unerringly seeking fulfillment.&nbsp; Her hand raked down, intent on pulling the barrier of her panties aside so she could get what she needed, what she craved more than her next breath. <br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Compromising Positions [Dreamweaver &amp; Gaelyn]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Dreamweaver</strong> on <strong>14-01-2011, 10:46:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				A hammering jolt of sensation surged through his body as her hand grasped onto his cock, clenching with hungry desperation, stroking down his length - he could feel the trembling in her, and for a fleeting moment wondered what the cause of it was - fear, apprehension, nervous energy?&nbsp; Simple unbridled desire?<br><br>Does it matter?&nbsp; Her hand is wrapped around your cock with a death grip, you idiot.<br><br>John shifted again, raising up slightly as her free hand snaked down his body and between them, and he shuddered with eager anticipation as that hand clutched at the front of her cotton panties before dragging them unceremoniously to the side.&nbsp; The action dragged the stitched leg of her underwear against the sensitive head of his cock, causing his entire body to jerk in reaction just as the hot flesh of his glans grazed against the babysoft skin of her mound.<br><br>"Yes, we should ... Definitely stop," he muttered hoarsely as he shifted his hips back again, pushing his ass upward and angling his cock down toward the object of his lustful desires.&nbsp; It felt like an inferno between them, the heat of his shaft mingled with that of her body as his cockhead pushed down and over the hard nub of her clit and between her swollen petals.&nbsp; "We wouldn't ... want to do something," he muttered hoarsely as his crown found the slick, wet apex of her pussy, "that we'd ... regret later."&nbsp; <br><br>John's entire body pulsed with hunger, need, carnal desire unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.&nbsp; <em>Please, one little tug so I can bury myself inside you,</em> he pleaded silently, his eyes filled with a look of wild abandon as he gazed down into her face.
			</dd>
		</dl>
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