It was never an uncommon sight: my lodger had an interesting career with an array of sinful jobs and a half-naked woman in my kitchen was a common occurrence.
I couldn’t have picked a better lodger for my small two-bedroom city flat. Ellie was a very good payer: her rent was always paid on or before it was due, and I certainly cared not for how she raised the cash. Who am I to judge? She kept her bedroom tidy, and cleaned the kitchen and the bathroom after she used them. I could have no complaints.
And as a red-blooded man I could have no complaints about the perks of her chosen vocation either; if she wasn’t wandering around the house naked, it was in revealing underwear as she got ready: art school student, webcam model, prostitute and escort. She was always in demand. And when she wasn’t going out, the exhibitionist was walking around my flat undressed and if she was working then she’d often not need many clothes either!
A half-naked woman in my kitchen was, as I said, a common sight. Ellie enjoyed exhibiting herself; I enjoyed the show. But it never went any further: “I don’t fuck my landlord,” she’d tease as we’d flirt; her hands on my waist as we negotiated past each other in the small kitchen. Or watch a film together, curled up in our open dressing gowns, nicking popcorn from each other’s bowl. She was playful and fun. I loved her company, but could never have her.
But the half-naked woman in my kitchen that evening wasn’t Ellie. It looked a lot like her: dark hair, bare feet and underwear, but she had different tattoos and was slightly taller. “Hi,” I muttered from the doorway, ogling the svelte beauty making herself a drink.
She flicked her head over her shoulder to see me. “Oh hi,” she called. “You want something too!”
My cock twitched. “Oh yes,” I murmured to myself. She overheard my vocal thoughts as my eyes traced the elegant curves of the young lady.
“Oh. Behave,” she giggled; the lingerie-clad model’s hands rubbed her body and her left hand slid down her side, catching the multi-coloured panties with her fingers to lower them. “Or don’t …” She exposed more tattoos, she revealed the soft peachy flesh of her buttocks and she revealed the enticing crack of her ass.
“It’s so hot in here,” she teased, allowing her panties to gracefully slide over the rump of her bum and fall silently to the floor. She turned to face me: my eyes drawn to her neat triangle of pubic hair, subconsciously pointing me towards my target like an arrow. She licked her lips as her finger beckoned me wordlessly towards her. “So very, very hot in here,” she groaned, each word slowly and seductively tripping off her tongue.
She leant on the counter, her bare buttocks sitting on the worktop as she pulled me into her space. My lips touched her cheek, she slipped her hands inside my dressing gown to feel my erection, licking her lips as her fingers glided over my sensitive head. “That’s nice,” I mewed. She bucked her hips and temptingly groaned.
Her hands pressed on my shoulders; she guided my head into her fettered bosom and then into her hairless slit. She whispered encouragement to my tongue gliding over her moistness: the sexy stranger leant back on the worktop, her arousal sparking with every flick on her intimate folds.
She grasped my hair as my lips swirled against her clit, grinding her cunt against my face as she bucked her hips rhythmically, crying out as her orgasm swept over her.
She panted as her hands held my face against her crack, my tongue flicked her engorged button as her wetness dripped onto my chin. She tasted heavenly: her orgasmic juices sweet and delightful. My tongue swirled against her; feeling her body convulse and twist to another small climax and then a gut-wrenching, roaring explosion of sated lust that echoed in the small kitchen as I tore the satisfaction from her desperate, writhing body.
She smiled at me, panting; she savoured the relief in her twitching loins. “Thanks,” she muttered as she jumped from the worktop, landing with the softest of bumps. She winked; I felt my hard cock brush against my hand, hearing my lodger chastise her friend from another room.
I felt guilty for taking advantage.
I felt less guilty when I got an invite to Ellie’s first gallery exhibition: there was a series of ink sketches of me going down on the girl in my kitchen that day, and Ellie confessed to setting the scene up with a friend and a hidden camera when I challenged her.
“Sorry,” she shrugged and then glanced her shoulder. “Don’t be mad at me.”
I could never be made at Ellie. “Oh, and they want more of that scene so I might get Nikki back to do a more intense session with you.” Her eyes fluttered. “You, bending her over the table to do all the things you want to do to me but I won’t let you.” She giggled. “And I’ll give you a picture,” she offered. “Of just Nikki. Doesn’t she look so pretty?”
I couldn’t disagree.
Image used under a CC-license from IrisBabes.com