The characters in this story are over the age of 18
Carson is stapling lights across the front of his two-story colonial when I pull into the driveway. The Mitchells live in one of the newer developments on this side of town. They moved here four years ago from Louisiana because of Liz's new job at a firm here. I park the car where Liz's Lexus would pull into their two-car garage and step out onto their salted driveway. It snowed earlier in the week, but the last few days have been sunny and in the high 40s. I hook my purse in the crook of my elbow and hold my hand out as I walk carefully up their driveway. These damn heels need to come off; they're starting to blister my feet.
"Hello up there!" I call and Carson gives me a wave from the top. He leaves the staple gun in the gutter and leaves the bundle of lights on a hook at the side of the ladder before descending to me.
"Nice outfit," Carson says, a smirk on his face once his feet hit the ground.
I let out a sigh and roll my eyes. Carson leans over to give me a friendly hug and my heart jumps into my throat. He squeezes me with those arms and pats my lower back before pulling away.
"It was costume day in the classroom," I say, waving a hand over the Elf on the Shelf costume.I am excited for Emma to see it. I love giving you guys ideas for her Elf."
It took me probably a week to put the whole thing together. The difficult part was finding a white skirt. I've had way too many accidents with sauces and pen marks to justify buying one and it seemed like no store in town carried it. The red long sleeve was easy to find and the red and white striped socks I had from a Where's Waldo Halloween costume.
"Ah," Carson says, dusting off a giant snowflake from a box. "She's with my mother. I'm sorry I didn't call you. She kind of just showed up here and took Emma for the afternoon. I completely spaced calling you off."
"Oh," I say, unable to hide my frown.
I like my Emma time. She's a little ball of sunshine, princesses, and glitter.
"Don't worry about it." I wave a hand in front of me when Carson's mouth opens again. "What are you doing?"
"Uh, gotta put these lights on the house," Carson says, looking up towards the dangling bit of lights he left up. He leans towards me and puts a hand beside his mouth. "We're in a war with the Vickerson's across the street."
I breathe in his cologne. He smells like tea tree and spearmint. I don't know how many times his scent has blown my senses out when I do the laundry or make the beds in the house. He is looking across the street and I follow his gaze to the two-story red brick house with a big mahogany door and two big pines in the front yard. They're directly across the street; both families could stare at each other from the living room windows if they wanted to. It's 1pm on a Thursday so the lights aren't on, but I can see the strings tracing the edges of their roof. There's more along the second-floor dormer windows and wrapping up the big pines. Deacon Dickerson is the Chief of the Fire Department. He probably used the ladder truck to wrap those pines. I look at Carson and his lips are pressed in a line.
"We're hosting the neighborhood Christmas party next weekend and I want those bastards speechless when they walk through the door," Carson says, cracking his knuckles. "It's just taking longer than usual because Liz has been away helping a colleague with a case out in Washington."
"I can help," I offer, reaching for the snowflake in his hand.
"Oh, Erin. That's okay. You have the day off!"
"I thought I was watching Emma, so I don't have any plans. Besides, I'd rather help you put all this up than go back to my apartment," I say, lifting an eyebrow at Carson who just stares at me. "Please?"
"Okay, fine. You can help me get the tree inside. I was going to wait until Liz got home because it's too damn big to carry myself. Her flight gets in later tonight."
Carson leads me into the garage where the big F-350 is parked. In the back is the tree and it's hanging so precariously close to the ground, I wonder if he dragged it back here with it skimming the pavement. It's a huge evergreen and the room smells like pine and pesticide. He hooks a foot onto the top of the wheel and swings his other leg over the side, stepping onto the bed of the truck. I blink in astonishment, trying to fix my eyes onto something else in the room. He's got to be the single sexiest thing I have seen today.
Chill out, Erin... he's married...
"Just grab the top end," Carson orders.
I glance at him and feel a clench in my stomach. His brown eyes are focused on maneuvering the tree at an angle off the truck bed. I weave my hand through some branches before gripping the trunk of the tree and hoisting it up onto my shoulder. I balance it there, jerking my head as the needles prick my neck. I feel a bit of the weight come off my shoulder as Carson jumps from the truck bed and lifts his back end of the tree. I lead us slowly through the doorway and through their giant kitchen.
"It's going in the front window," Carson says, and I swivel carefully down the hallway towards the front door and bank a right into the living room. I stop and Carson swings around to back up the tree in the stand. I help guide it into the opening and Carson kneels to screw it in place. I look down but the branches are already starting to settle, blocking my view.
I stand there and listen to the turning of the screws while Mr. Vickerson drags some inflatable Santa to the east corner of his front lawn. There are more boxes out front of lights and new inflatable characters. He looks across the street to Carson's house and his face twists in annoyance. He drops the box on the front lawn, throws his hands up, and storms over to the front door.
Well, bah humbug to you too.
Something touches the inside of my calf and I let out a yelp, jerking my leg back. I stumble back on my heels and look down to see Carson's brown eyes looking up at me in bewilderment. There are pine needles in his salt and pepper hair and on his shoulders. My hand itches to reach out and brush it all away.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just needed a hand up," he says, pushing up from the floor with his hands on his knees. "You seriously carried this tree in those?"
He points to my red heels with the bowtie on the ankle. I laugh.
"Yeah, I need to take them off though. They're killing my feet."
"I like them," Carson says, not meeting my gaze as he fluffs some of the branches of the tree. Needles rain down onto the floor.
The comment catches us both off guard and I turn towards the window, scratching the back of my neck.
"Mr. Vickerson looks pretty serious about this Christmas war," I say, nodding towards the window.
"He doesn't know we're in a war," Carson says, digging into a box by the fireplace.
He groans and the sound pierces straight through my nipples. It's not a sexual groan by the look of his bowed head, but the sound is deep and delicious. He turns around, one hand pinching the bridge of his nose and the other holding a red and white doll.
"I hate this fucking thing."
"Oh, come on!" I say, walking over and taking the Elf on a Shelf from him. "Emma loves her!"
"You're the only reason we didn't struggle with it last year," Carson says, pulling the doll from my hands. Our fingers brush and I feel the heat rush down my body. "I always want to put her in some precarious situation with Emma's Ken doll."
He finds one of Emma's stray dolls and leans it on a vase on the coffee table. Then, he bends the Elf down so she's hugging her calves in front of the Ken doll. Carson brings the Ken doll closer so his face is pressed against the Elf's ass. I lift an eyebrow at him, my jaw dropping as he steps back to admire his handy work.
"You can't be serious," I say, looking between Carson's brown eyes to the dolls and back.
"I don't actually do it. It's like, the 'Land of Misfit Elf Ideas,'" Carson says, rolling his eyes.
"That must be the most uncomfortable position," I say, crossing my arms over my chest. "Like, the center of gravity would just lead to a concussion."
"Okay, Miss Elf Expert," he says and goes about moving the dolls. "What, did you compete in gymnastics or something?"
This time, he carries the dolls over to the doorframe into the dining room. He takes Ms. Elf on the Shelf and leans her against the wall, one leg up on the frame and the other planted on the floor. Mr. Ken comes up and holds the leg with one hand and the other on her waist. I gasp audibly, but Carson ignores me. He maneuvers them a little more and then steps back with a quiet "ta-dah!" and a wave of his hands.
"No. Absolutely not," I say. "The first one has promise if you have a way to stay upright. The second. Who can even bend like that?"
"Good girls," Carson says and then quickly goes back to the box by the fireplace.
I stand there shell shocked. The candid talk about sex positions with the married man who hands me a couple hundred dollars at the end of each week makes my face flush. Good girls?! Liz?! It's like learning how babies are made and then your teacher announces she's pregnant. You always wonder how they do it. I just figured the Mitchells were too busy to screw or just vanilla at their age.
I press my lips together and turn away from Carson. It's not like I haven't thought of him like that. I've rubbed my clit raw to the thought of him taking me in his bed on his wife's side. I barely make it out of the neighborhood sometimes before my pants are unbuttoned and I'm rubbing on the drive home. The summers have been the worst. He does yard work and plays in the pool with Emma shirtless. I'm certain I've seen him glance my way one or twice since I started working for them, but the man is married. It's probably in my head anyways! Just a college girl crushing on an attractive, tall, married man who dresses nice and smells like mint...
"You don't think you could enjoy either of those?" Carson asks, pulling my attention back to him.
He is bent forward and reaching for his toes. He's not anywhere near getting his arms around his legs and I think he'll tear his pants open lifting either leg up on a door frame.
"That doesn't look right," I say and lean forward.
I bend at the waist, feeling the motion stretch out the muscles along my back. It feels good and I let out an involuntary moan as my spine cracks in several places. I run my hand down my thighs and hook my arms around my calves, giving them a squeeze. My blonde hair brushes the floor as I dangle there. It's a comfortable position if you're stationary but I can't imagine having a cock thrusting in and out of me and not falling over.
I turn my head to see him staring at my legs. I flush and straighten up quickly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. I smooth out my white skirt which probably would come up to just above the knee on a 5'2 woman, but on my 5'9 frame it's mid-thigh. Carson's eyes are still fixed on the sliver of thigh between the hem of my skirt and the tops of my red and white striped socks. Even though I am looking at his face, it takes him a few long seconds to snap his attention to mine. He stands, stunned, and then clears his throat.
"Ah, to be young again," is all he says.
I want to run out of the house and drive home. I am simultaneously embarrassed and turned on at the same time. I shouldn't have bent over but he also shouldn't have been staring at me the way he was. My head swims as I move to unpack boxes. Carson puts the Christmas knick-knacks all over the living and dining rooms in silence. There is an empty hook above the mantle for a Christmas wreath. Two tiny Christmas trees sit on either side of it. Carson spaces out five snowmen candles on glass dishes in front of a string of red and gold ribbons. He lines the hooks up for his stocking, then Liz's, and finally Emma's. It brings a smile to both our faces.
"I know there's another box of decorations upstairs," he says, turning away from me. "Be right back."
I lean to pick one of the boxes up off the floor and feel the pull deep in my hip. It's an ache that never seems to go away. It's those damn heels and being on my feet all day. There's an open spot on the floor and I lay down on my back. I put my hands on my stomach and lift both of my legs into the air. I feel the stretch in my hamstrings and the gentle pull on the muscle deep in my ass cheeks. I grip my legs by the calves, bringing them perpendicular to the rest of my body. I've had a couple guys fuck me in this position. This would be a good one to put Ms. Elf on the Shelf in. I close my eyes and Carson's muscular torso is hovering over me as he holds my legs back. He would be thrusting down into me and grunting. Maybe he would spread my legs wide by the ankles, lean down and press his lips—
I slide my hands down my legs, feeling the transition from soft fabric to soft skin. My fingers brush over my damp mound before I slowly bring my legs down. I open my eyes and they land on Carson. He is barely holding onto a box that is jingling with ornaments and other plastic decorations. I scramble off the floor, pulling my skirt down to cover myself. How much did he see?! Oh my god, did he see my panties? My whole ass and pussy?
"I—" I start to stammer and put my hands to my mouth. Heat washes over my body and I can feel the sweat on the back of my neck. My face is hot. I am so getting fired. I am so getting blacklisted from babysitting and, if he told my school, fired again! "I—I am so sorry. I should go."
My heart is hammering in my chest. I'm lightheaded and dizzy with embarrassment. Where the hell is my damn purse? Put one foot in front of the other, Erin. Just get the hell out of here. It's over. You're not even going to be able to say goodbye to Emma because you just wanted a quick stretch and image of Carson Mitchell's cock inside you! Save it for the car ride home or the bedroom!
"Is that a new position for Emma's doll to try?" Carson's voice calls after me as I practically run for the door.
I stop short, my breathing hitched in my throat. When I turn around, Carson is slowly setting the box of ornaments down on the floor. His eyes are on me, drinking in the sight of me. He slowly straightens back up and begins rolling one of the sleeves to his red buffalo check flannel.
"Look, I-I don't know what you saw, but I am so, so sorry," I say, my hands clasped in front of me. "I know this is totally inappropriate and I don't want to—"
"Have you tried that position before, Erin?"
Carson hits me with his Dad voice and I stand with my mouth slightly agape. I feel like I just got busted coming back from a party by my own father. I blink and shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. Under the humiliation of being completely exposed to Emma's dad and the fear of potentially losing my job, I'm turned on. He totally saw at least my lacy red panties. It's more than he's ever seen from me. I might be fired after this, but I can die knowing that Carson Mitchell finally saw the outline of my young pussy after two years of secret flashing.
"I... Yeah, a couple of times," I say, my eyebrows knitting together. "I'm sure Liz would like to tr—"
Carson has cleared some of the space between us. He's still rolling up his other sleeve, his forearms flexing as his hands roll the fabric. I've seen those muscles in action both when he picks Emma up and when he's doing yard work. I've thought about grabbing them when he's making me squirt on the kitchen floor or being caged between them against the pantry door. There have been so many fantasies brought about by tiny, innocent moments with him. Now, I am frozen in place by the front door, breathing heavily as he stands two feet from me. His eyes are warm, but his jaw is tense.
"I think I should go..."
"I really like your little red panties," Carson says, his hand reaching out and pinching the hem of my white skirt. "You drive a man crazy in this costume."
I am still trying to wrap my head around each word that comes out of his mouth when his hands come up and cup my face. The pad of his thumb brushes my bottom lip. I can see in his eyes that he is weighing his options. He's weighing all the outcomes of this Point of No Return. I wouldn't tell a damn soul if he kissed me right now or not. I wouldn't utter a word about what he's said if he kicked me out. I'd just go back to watching Emma and pretend like the whole ordeal never happened.
Our bodies are gravitating to one another, closing what little space remains between us. We both want this. It is no longer just me fantasizing about this delicious man every night alone in my bed. He's touching me. He fucking complimented my panties for God sake! I just want to reach into his brain and turn off his thoughts. No one needs to know about us. No one needs to know this ever happened.
He moves away from me towards the front window and my heart sinks. I watch him draw the curtains over it, blocking us out from the street. Then, Carson turns to look at me again.
"Mr. Mitchell," he corrects, nodding his chin towards the couch. "Or Daddy. Whichever feels more comfortable for you, naughty girl"
I take a hesitant step towards the couch. My knees are weak with nerves and it feels like a sauna in here. Neither of those feels comfortable. I only got to be on a first name basis with him last Christmas! It took a year of working for the Mitchells to call him Carson. I am so screwed out of this job.
"Just like you did earlier," he whispers.
His hand is on my arm and he slowly turns me towards the length of the couch. I glance between his brown eyes at the arm of the chair for a few seconds before the dots connect in my brain. Oh, this is really happening. It totally is! I bend over slowly and Mr. Mitchell lets out a low moan. The hem of my skirt skims the back of my thighs, exposing more of my young skin. I wrap my arms around my calves and look between my knees. His body blocks out the tiny sliver of light coming from the curtains and he kneels behind me. Both of his hands wrap around my ankles and begin their slow ascent upward. I close my eyes, relishing in the warmth of his palms through my socks. I can't move my legs with my arms around them. It's like self-restraint; maybe that's why he likes this position. I am unable to spread them as his hands tickle the backs of my knees. He scrapes his nails along my thighs and then, without warning, his mouth kisses my pussy through my panties.
"You are soaking wet, naughty girl," Mr. Mitchell says.
I'd like to deny it, but he blows on my pussy and the cool air chills the dripping patch on my lacy panties. Mr. Mitchell brings his hand up and lightly smacks my pussy. I can hear the wet, sopping sounds as his fingers send bites of pleasure through my body. The panties might as well not even be there.
He explores my young skin with experience and excitement only a married 41 year old can. He fills his hands with my tight cheeks, squeezing and massaging me. I grip my legs tighter, my toes working to keep my balance as he kneads and explores my ass. He flicks my skirt up and lays two simultaneous slaps on both cheeks, causing me to stumble forward into the couch.
"Ah, ah, naughty girl," he says. "It is your job to stay in the position I put you in."
"Yes," I murmur, already wrapping my arms back around my calves.
"Yes, Mr. Mitchell."
"Good girl," he says, his warm hand caressing my skin.
I hear the rustle of his shirt and brace for the stinging slap that lands on my right cheek this time. My stomach clenches and my toes grip the floor, fighting to stay upright in this self-locking position. He caresses again, eating the stinging bite his slaps left. It's replaced with a gentle pleasure that makes me moan. My panties are slowly pulled down, peeling away from my soaking pussy. I hear Mr. Mitchell's groan. His hands grip my thighs and his tongue is all over me.