This choice: Use Eldibria to influence the workman • Go Back...Chapter #8A Storm of Passion by: imaj   Isn’t it time you lived for yourself a little?
You touch the workman’s heart with Eldibria’s aid, you don’t need any subtlety here and you hit him pretty hard. His expression changes again, an almost feral hunger appearing at the edge of his smile. It doesn’t feel any different, you realise, using your prodigies like this. It is exactly the same as every other time you’ve pushed someone’s emotions around in the line of duty.
The realisation doesn’t faze you. Instead you grin back at him, licking your lips in anticipation. “Is that you finished for the night,” you ask coyly.
The workman’s smile, if anything, gets wider. You really must have hit his emotions hard, because the workman seems oblivious to just how clichéd your approach is. “I could be,” he answers.
“Oh that’s a pity,” you say, watching as his face falls. “Because there’s something in my room that needs fixed.” The grin appears again. “I don’t suppose you could take a look at it,” you ask in a mock innocent voice.
“Want me to take a look at it for you,” he growls. You nod coyly and gesture back towards your room. “Why don’t you show me?” The workman follows your lead as you saunter back to your room, putting a little more swing into your hips than normal. He passes inside as you hold the door open. You close the door behind you, quietly sliding the lock shut. “So what’s the problem,” asks the workman as he sets down his stepladder and toolbox at the far end of the room.
You say nothing as you step slowly forward. Instead, your hands reach down and untie your bathrobe. It falls open, revealing your naked body underneath. Though Siobhan has been your habitual form since you invented her four and half years ago for the Churchman case, you’ve made sure to look after her body well. A healthy diet and regular exercise mean that Siobhan is almost as youthfully perky as she was when you took the job as the Churchman’s nanny.
The workman lets out a long low whistle. “I don’t see anything wrong here ma’am,” he tells you.
“Call me Siobhan, please,” you reply, slipping your arms out of the sleeves of the bathrobe. It falls to the floor in a heap at your feet. You spin slowly round, letting the workman see all of your body. “Are you sure you don’t see a problem,” you say. “Take a closer look.”
He takes a few steps closer to you and makes a show of looking you up and down. “No problems at all Siobhan, you look perfect.”
“Hmm,” you murmur, closing the distance to him and placing your hands on his chest. “I wonder if you’re perfect under there too,” you ask, giving his emotions another nudge. The workman smiles ruefully and shakes his head, but he doesn’t resist as you slip the straps of his overalls to the side and slide them down his body. He kicks off his work boots at steps out of the overalls, now clothed in little more than his shorts and a dirty old tee.
You gasp a little as he takes off the tee, dropping it to the floor where it pools beside the discarded overalls. As you guessed, his body is hard and athletic. Tightly bound muscles do not bulge, but they give the impression of being taut and ready. The workman seems like a man permanently teetering on the edge of a fight or flight response.
And he has fought. Several scars mark his body: A couple of oddly puckered ones at his left shoulder, several short one on his right forearm, a crescent shaped one that tracks upwards from his hip. The most obvious scars though, are the four parallel ones that run lengthways from the base of his neck down to the bottom of his stomach.
The tattoo on his upper left arm catches your attention. You take hold of his arm and turn it to get a better look. “You were in the military,” you say, realising what it was you found familiar about him earlier. His demeanour is so much like the soldiers from Fort Suffolk that used to come into Saratoga Falls from time to time. “The army,” you ask.
The workman snorts derisively. “Marines,” he replies curtly.
Despite growing up in a town with a military base, you’re only vaguely aware of the distinction. Since your identity as Siobhan is a foreigner – and obviously so given the faint Irish lilt you speak in as her – you have a perfect excuse for not knowing. You make a soft grunting sound, simply acknowledging his comment. “Is that how you got these scars,” you ask, tracing your hands over the puckered ones at his shoulder.
“Yeah,” says the workman, looking to the side for a moment. “I got those in Iraq,” he explains.
“How did you end up here,” you ask. “How does someone like you end up as a hotel handyman?”
“They don’t take very good care of veterans,” replies the workman sourly. “Not ones like me anyway.”
“I’m sorry,” you tell him, moving your hand across to the set of long scars that run the length of his torso. “What about these ones,” you ask. “It’s almost as if….”
“A wild animal,” interrupts the workman.
You nod and look suitably awed. It must have been a very big and very wild animal, but if he wants to keep his secrets about whatever dirty little black ops he did during his stint with the Marines, you don’t care. It’s refreshing not to want to pry out someone’s memories. Instead you can just enjoy a consequence free fuck. You slip you hands round the workman’s back and stand up on you tip-toes to kiss him.
The action takes the workman a little by surprise. It takes a few seconds for him to respond. His strong hands find their way down to your pert ass, squeezing ever so gently. His tongue is more insistent. It probes your mouth with an urgency you guess to be borne out of not kissing a woman in a long time. When the kiss finishes, the workman’s tilts his head back slightly and closes his eyes. The contented tone in the sigh he makes is clear.
“Oh,” you murmur half to yourself. “When did you last…” The workman interrupts your question by tightening his grip on your ass. He hoists you off the ground, leaving your feet dangling in the air. “Oh,” you giggle before wrapping your legs round him as well. The workman has no difficulty in lifting your light frame over to the bed, dropping you gently on top of the covers.
You touch the workman with Eldibria again as you crawl backwards up the bed. A little fire touches his eyes and he smiles wickedly at you. You return the smile as the workman wriggles out of his shorts and climbs onto the bed. His stiffening cock catches your attention as he crawls on top of you, planting one hand on either side of your shoulders. You moan a little as he darts down to kiss you on the lips again.
The workman is more confident with his kiss this time, more assured and less urgent. You feel one of his hands work its way down your body as he kisses you. First he kneads one of your breasts softly, then he traces his way down your stomach and between your legs. Breaking off the kiss, you gasp and arch your back as he slowly rubs at the mound there.
“Stars,” you squeal as he parts your legs with his hand. A finger penetrates the outer lips of your pussy. You judder in pleasure, unable to do anything except moan. Slowly, very slowly, the workman lowers himself onto you – inside you even. You gasp and sigh and squirm as he pushes himself further and further in until he stops, his member thrust all the way inside into one of your most secret places.
The pair of you lie there for what seems like age. Neither you nor the workman move, save to breathe. You chest slowly heaves up and down and you stare rapt with fascination at the workman’s as he does the same.
He moves first, drawing himself back slowly before thrusting again, hard and fast. You bounce in time with him, urging him onwards. Everything else around you loses its significance, there is only you and the workman and the wave that is starting to form deep within you.
You scratch blindly at his chest, drawing blood. For a fraction of a second you wonder if it will form another scar before dismissing the notion as ridiculous. The workman grunts and doubles his efforts, bringing the wave inside you closer and closer to crashing down.
The workman’s thrusting slows, but each one is harder and further than the last. He shudders to a groaning halt. You can feel him pulsing within you. At the same time the wave building inside you crests and crashes down, washing away everything like a tidal wave. You scream your ecstasy to the sky
The workman rolls off you spent, but you hold onto each other till sleep takes you. You have the following choice: 1. Continue |
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