Long Nail Story #29 – Sheela—Visitor of Mischief

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She was absolutely stunning………

Standing at the threshold of Dr. Grant Harris’s door was Sheela, the Harris family’s first international student boarder. She was Indian, her dark skin gleaming, almost luminescent. While trying to remain on her almond-shaped, vixen eyes, Grant tried to peripherally take in the rest of her body – so heart-stoppingly perfect, with huge 40-DD’s, supported by a lacy, burgundy bra that JUST covered her mesmerizing dome-shaped aerolae/nipples, all encased under a white cut-off t-shirt that was so threadbare that Grant – later on, upon further furtive viewings of her lethal temptress body – found himself transfixed by trying to ascertain the darkness of her voluminous, jiggling tit-flesh under the fabric.

The way she stood up on the balls of her feet and hooked her thumbs into the straps of her huge backpack (while thrusting her volleyballs out at him) made for the most distracting hello he had ever received. He didn’t respond right away, and immediately fought back feelings in his loins that he hadn’t felt in some time.

In a voice so soft and so high, through upturned lips so tempting and glossy and stuffable, Sheela‘s words seeped right through him, it seemed to him, rather than registering through his ears. Such a melodious, delightful cascade of patter came from her lips that in no time she had him hanging on her every word….a voice almost excessive in its daintiness, and to Grant – and to every man she came across – it was the most addictive phone sex operator’s voice imaginable.

He dazedly allowed her to walk right in, and hungrily took in her petite frame as soon as her back was to him – a frame showcasing the high-riding ass characteristic of Indian women, curving upwards to the deep, deep swoop of her short back, a swoop that was so ridiculously pronounced in profile by the opposing jutting of breasts, so mammoth, on so wasp-like a frame. Sheela’s slim, toned legs shimmered in the light, as sandal thongs criss-crossed up her calf. She tugged up the belt loops of her jeans cut-offs and turned around to catch Grant lost in her hotness. With that knowing look in those lidded, cat eyes, Sheela let Grant’s desire feed upon itself.

As this was going on, Grant’s wife Debbie looked on, from the kitchen entrance. She incredulously watched what looked like a scantily-clad escort with a back-pack rendering her husband into a babbling, uncomprehending fool at the doorway, and then slowly removing her backpack for his viewing pleasure, the straps that had framed the sides of her enormous hooters now slooowly coming off sensuously slinky shouders. Light reflected off her very long, clear-polished finger nails.

Debbie almost intervened when Sheela walked right in, past Grant, without waiting for the invite. She had the most gracefully serpentine walk – even Debbie couldn’t deny it – and seeing her husband staring dumbly at Sheela made Debbie feel a combination of repulsion and craven curiosty, and elected to remain at the recessed nook of the kitchen entrance, to see what Sheela might do next.

Sheela’s sly smile vanished as soon as her face was turned away from Grant. Surveying the front area, her darting eyes took stock of everything, and when she saw Debbie standing awkwardly just to the side of the kitchen entrance, Sheela froze for an instant that was so quick that the only thing Debbie could recall was the return of that wickedly lascivious smile and square gaze of bedroom eyes seizing its prey, in the form of Debbie, but only momentarily, hoping not to bring her to the attention of Grant, who was feasting his eyes on the most voluptuous morsel of sexiness he had even seen, Sheela’s back once again to him, to let him look, and lust, freely, some more.

Reveling, now, in the show she was putting on for Debbie, too, the Indian cockteaser took her time running her hands luxuriously through straight hair that reached down to the top of her tits, and fanned out beautifully around her. The bang cut helped emphasize the allure of her penetrating cat eyes. Tilting her head to the side to rake those conspicuously long fingernails through her hair, Sheela stole another look at Debbie, and then looked askance – back at the increasingly enraptured man behind her – and then back to Debbie again, playfully cocking an eyebrow.

Whirling around to Grant a second time, her hair an inviting black swirl of sexual refuge, with enough spring in her step to make those gigantic, firmer-than-shit jugs jiggle, she asked, in that cock-stiffeningly light, delicate voice, followed by a wink, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your wife?”

Finally some words that snapped him back into a reality that he found, at first, embarrassing (that “BUS-ted” feeling), and then – to his own bewilderment – a sexual frustration verging on blood-boiling fury, which fortunately gave way to relief that the rumblings of an impending erection were, for the time being, effectively quashed. Debbie was also embarrassed at being “discovered”, and then angry with herself for not stepping in sooner – when she still had some pissed-off ammo – for defusing a situation that instead made her look like a peeping tom.

Playing at the ends of her hair and reciprocating Debbie’s less-than-welcoming expression, Sheela gave her a curt “hi”, but as Debbie reluctantly approached, the icy resolve of Grant’s wife of twenty years soon melted in Sheila’s delectable, irresistible, sensually magnetic proximity, reinforced by the arousing perfume – Addict – that the Harris family was soon to be subjected. One of the most insidiously powerful forces known to man, this particular brand of perfume on this particular woman created an effluvium that was soon unshakable, so erotically stimulating, that soon the household was under siege by an unleashed torrent of pheromones that made the blood race, the loins blaze, and thoughts muddle.

Shaking hands, Sheela gently clasped both hands around Debbie’s right, and kept her hands around Debbie’s as she withdrew from Sheela’s hand sandwich – a lingering, fingers-slipping-away-from-fingers contact that made Debbie subconsciously think that her hand just got softly, smoothly, fucked, the resulting horniness the only thing Debbie being acutely aware of. Sheela’s two-handed clasp also allowed her arms to come together in a “v”, making her biceps squeeze her already pert melons even further upwards and towards Debbie, who of course fell for the visual trap and then looked back up at Sheela’s unabashedly leering gaze. Grant astonished himself once again with his slighted reactions to Sheela’s subtle, yet distinct, machinations – this time stewing over Sheela shaking Debbie’s hand, but not his.

By now the sweet, seductive shroud of Sheela’s aroma was starting to make its stronger impact on Grant, his testicles playfully dancing up and down to the sheer joy they received from his olfactory senses. He had to be careful that Sheela didn’t trick him into nut-dancing his way to a full-blown erection, especially with the complete lack of constraint provided by the bathrobe he was wearing.

They went on an awkward tour of the house. Grant found himself hankering to linger behind the two, simply to view the lazy pendulum shift of Sheela’s ass moving one way, then the other, back the other way, then back the other, as her dark, slim legs moved like a pair of sexy scissors. Picking up on this, Sheela made a show of hiking up her cut-off shorts every ten seconds or so – those long sexy talons hooking into the belt loops – insuring that Grant’s attention was on one thing, and one thing only. At one point she even playfully looked back at Grant, prompting Debbie to do the same, albeit less playfully.

“Ah yes! My playground!” exclaimed Sheela when they came to her bedroom. They watched as she walked up to her window, placed both hands on opposite panes, and surveyed the typical surburban neighbourhood before her. A cyclist riding by saw Sheela in the window, who managed to give him a cheery wave hello with just enough enthusiasm to make her big tits shake, in turn distracting the cyclist just enough so that the tip of his handlebars bumped into the corner of a parked flatbed truck, sending the poor fool onto the pavement hard, his face now a raw, bleeding map of road burn.

Sheela’s o-mouthed whoop of shock was a sight Grant will never forget: the hot little Indian, a hand over her glossy-lipped, open mouth; going up on her toes; her butt protuding ripely one way, those glorious, hypnotically huge breasts the other; the way she turned to the side solely to show off the most amazing feminine profile Grant and Debbie Harris were to ever see in their entire lives. Whether they liked it or not, it was a “polaroid moment”, if you will, that they weren’t likely to forget too soon. Especially the look in Sheela’s eyes. Shock, disdain, or concern, it seemed, were not looks that came to mind.

Turning back to the bed again, Sheela said, “I love it,” sneaking a come-hither look at Grant, and then at Debbie, who found herself strangely divided between fury at Sheela’s brazen flirting, and jealousy over Sheela not giving her that “I love it” look at Debbie first. This hurt snapped Debbie back into a reality she was starting to dread, and suddenly she felt the need to flee, to be elsewhere, to gather her thoughts.

“Fine then…….If that settles everything…….I need to put some body lotion on now from sitting in that plane for ten hours – my goodness! I was getting soooo dry……my body was nagging me: lotion me, oh, lotion me, naughty Sheela! I beg you – lotion me good and smooth! Get into every little nook and cranny….EVERYWHERE!!! And so now I’ve finally the chance to give myself a nice, good, long, slow, lotioning….aaalllll over…..mmmmmm it will feel soooo good – that nice REFRESHED feeling!”

On “REFRESHED”, Sheela did the slightest little jump up and down, her bouncing hooters ensnaring Grant and Debbie’s vision long enough to snap them out of being lulled by her easy-to-listen-to, soft, high-voiced palaver about the impending lotion rub-down.

Before Grant could stop himself, he said, “Really? If you ask me, I think it looks like…..you don’t….need…to….”

Sheela went stock still, an arched eyebrow imploring him to finish his sentence. She brought her open palms up (as if to say “Well? WELL?!”) near those luscious tits – those sand-dollar sized, domed nipples almost imperiously poking out at Grant, who felt a hungry twitch in his cock when he saw the dark/light border of pigmentation on the edges of her hands and fingers. He didn’t even need to look at Debbie.

“I mean…..like……I mean your lotion……”

“Yes?”

“……..what – how – what kind is it?”

“OH! It’s Lolita Lempika Butterfly lotion! Here-“ and quick as a whip she was rifling through an outer compartment of her backpack.

“Thanks Sheela”, Debbie mustered in a condescending voice, and, elbowing Grant, steered themselves back out. “If there’s anything you need we’ll be around for-“

“-HERE!” the dark, sultry gamine said, as she wickedly levelled Grant a stare that screamed “yes you’re mine now” and squirted out the white cream onto an upturned palm that was now in offering, her playfully wiggling fingers providing an absolutely dazzling display of dancing fingernails that must have been an inch long, beckoning radiantly, with sparkling flashes, to the biology professor. Debbie’s patience was particularly tried by the ludicrous way Sheela made an o-mouthed show of “accidentally” letting too much of the white goo fart its way out of the tube and over-reacting as though there was going to be a huge mess, making a fuss that was completely unnecessary yet so demonstratively sensual that Grant couldn’t help but fantasize about giving Sheela the absolute fucking bukake of her life.

As she kept her predatory gaze on him, Sheela worked a liberal amount of the wet, slimy-sounding stuff between splayed palms, and swiftly approached him with a little extra ’scissor’ in her step, and with more dance, accordingly, in those imposing honeydews. Debbie looked on in speechless astonishment as the swarthy coquette quickly placed both hands on John’s cheeks, and then withdrew in the same manner as her handshake with Debbie – that lingering, dragging-the-fingers-along retreat, however this time Sheela’s pinky-nails snuck behind his ears and scraped their way down to where his jaw started, sending an erogenous chill from that region down to the base of his spine., causing an involuntary little spasm that was noticed by a now doubly agitated Debbie.

Quickly fending off Sheela’s lotion-y advances with an “UH-UH. NO THANK –YOU”, Debbie was more successful this time in commandeering herself and Grant out of the room, further annoyed by Sheela’s little giggles. His machine-gun pulse-rate Debbie felt when she grabbed him near the elbow told her that Sheela really got his synapses crossed, and the all-too-pleasant aroma of his lotioned face – along with the perfume on her hand from Sheela’s handshake, making her nipples constantly hard and panties soaked – were making her head swim in despair.

They finally reached their bedroom; Debbie leaned back against the door after she closed it. Grant sat at the edge of the bed, and was about to plunk his face down in his hands when he stopped himself.

“Aw FUCK! Well, I’ll go try and wash this off my face, then,” he said as he got up and went to the master bathroom. Happy that he already seemed back on terra firma again, Debbie followed, hoping they could get to the heart of the matter a.s.a.p.

“Grant – are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

His face in the sink, he looked at her and said, “Martin?”

“Grant – we HAVE to get her out of here! She might….be…..”

Martin was an old friend of Grant’s who used to be the dean of the chemistry department at a nearby university. Martin had made some breakthrough discoveries that some believed would have made him the shoo-in for the chemistry Nobel. He was in the final preparation stages of his initial presentation to his colleagues when a pretty young student came into his life. She was German and went by different aliases. Soon he was kicked out of his house and living with her in some apartment downtown. After a couple days, she left him and took off with every single copy of every format of his findings. He blew his brains out a couple days later. Some said she was hired by a company like Monsanto, and word in the academic community was rife with lurid speculation.

In Grant’s case, it wasn’t just the passing of an old friend. Like Martin, Grant was also in the midst of some critically important research , wrapping up some top secret work in synthetics and fossil fuel substitutes that had the potential of completely handing the oil cartels’ asses to them on a silver plate. No Nobel, but Grant didn’t care. He just liked the idea of a greener planet. Martin’s predicament unnerved him, as he imagined being coerced and undermined by some sex spy who pilfers all his work, and concluded that things were too tight with Debbie for something so ridiculous to happen. All the important security codes were in his head anyway – a factor that was the deciding point in their dispute over what to do with Sheela.

“…..I mean, how can she steal THAT?”

“And I guess she’s not very subtle either, I s’pose…….. You’d figure those type of criminals would be a bit more….discrete. Or maybe….who knows…if she actually IS one, maybe she’s just playing the skanky little coed as a cover, or…..”

“Yeah, or we could second-guess ourselves till we’re blue in the face, too.”

“Or maybe it’s not as far-fetched as it sounds, no?”

“Debbie – for all we know she could simply be some promiscuous little coed who’ll jump anything on two legs.”

“Anything on two legs? HER?!….THAT thing?!?! Maybe a ceo or someone paying her 5,000 a night, Grant, NOT anything on two legs.”

After getting glared at for saying that was quite the seal of approval , Grant continued, “Listen – all we have to do is tell her that she’ll have to ease off on the pals-y wals-y-ness and the perfume, ok? And even IF she was up to some kind of sabotage or whatever – we have her right where we want her and get the authorities to bust that ass of hers, right?”

“Uh……THAT ass of hers?”

“HER ass, then, whatthefuckever. And like I was saying earlier….it’s kinda hard stealing something out of my head, isn’t it?”

Her arms crossed, Debbie leaned against the bathroom door frame and just looked at him.

“Anyway – so – I gotta take a dump right now, o.k.?” said Grant, and he closed the door as she wandered (AND wondered, unconvinced) out of the bedroom.

In the hallway, Debbie could hear some kind of electronic dance/house music – with sensuous middle east female vocals and woodwinds – blaring out of Sheela’s room. So now Debbie will have to do some more baby-sitting and (politely) tell her to turn down the friggin’ volume, not to mention keeping her door closed, but when she reached Sheela’s doorway and looked in, Debbie was taken aback by the sight of the Indian seductress in a black thong bikini doing the splits on a yoga mat, her back to her instantly captivated hostess. The music’s rhythm was danceable with well-produced layers of instrumentation, capped off with that singing that was sometimes hushed, breathy, or at other times floated with soothing high notes in the traditional Indian style.

Debbie realized that she’d have to flick on and off a light switch, or throw something at her, or (worse yet) actually go up to her, in order to get her attention. These options, however, soon became less important as Debbie got lost in the way her frisky, luscious boarder bounced that glimmering bubble butt – all nice, exposed, ripe, juicy Indian butt-flesh – like two round, mini-watermelons, her string of thong allowing Debbie a memory-destroying view of Sheela’s sweat-glistened butt-crack that caught enough light to clearly delineate the darker skin vortexing into her butthole. Just below, the slightly wider, skimpy strip of black fabric outlined some mouth-watering cameltoe, puffy, lickable.

With her hands on the ground in front of her, and still doing the splits, Sheela thrusted her loins forward, then back, forward, back, in time with the music, looking like she was fucking. Sheela’s pussy and ass were moving in a sort of scooping motion, Debbie concluded, as she felt her nipples tingling hard, stretching and rubbing against her sweatshirt, the unavoidable moisture commencing its tumult below. Keeping one hand on the ground directly in front of her, Sheela reached around with the free one to give that booty a good slap, the hand remaining there, nails digging in deep, pulling on the cheek to show even more glistening rectum, her pinky-nail reaching in extra close to the star-fished opening to give it one, final, really up-close stretch to reveal to Debbie a pliant black hole that was “covered” up by that thin string of thong.

Meanwhile, Grant was still on the toilet, but not for its intended use. Madly jerking his cock – which was now a straining, angry tower that made him compare it to his one-time “o.d’ing” of Viagra – he gave it a good, thorough greasing with the pre-cum that Sheela had already coaxed and cajoled out of his semi-erect cock by the time she was strutting down the hall to her “playground”. Grant was thankful his bathrobe pockets were low enough to tuck his hands into, to “quell the beast” during the tour.

He could start to hear Sheela’s stereo, its deep catchy beat making him unconsciously masturbate to it, like a metronome, even matching the extra syncopated beats, every minute or so, with a customized encircling of his cockhead with thumb and forefinger, twisting back and forth in a sort of (native) indian rope burn way, a seething pain that galvanized Grant’s explosive lust for Sheela, and then dutifully returning to the main beat with full shaftstrokes, increasingly pounding harder into balls already so fucking blue from her diabolical teasing. He repeatedly sniffed for remnants of Sheela’s lotion as though it was his last chance to smell it – her – ever again.

But what really and truly got Sheela under Grant’s skin was the intriguing necklace she was wearing – a thin gold chain, from which hung a nickle-sized mirror in the shape of a heart, its border exquisitely lined with fine little diamonds that lent a spectral allure to all the different shafts of light that were attracted to it and then reflected off, to a create an incredibly distracting, randomly blinking little pendant that was so compelling to look at, increasingly making Grant chomping at the bit, more and more, to anticipate when it will catch the light again, what colour will it be, the intensity of brightness, the length of time of light-flash.

Debbie had also looked a lot at Sheela’s twinkling pendant, but during the wicked show that Sheela was presently putting on for her, the little mirror was strategically placed on her backpack against the far wall by the window. With her back to her bedroom door, Sheela simply had to look straight ahead – to her pendant on her backpack in front of her – to see anything behind her, especially horny visitors, and when she saw Debbie eventually do her first of several stupefied knee-bucklings during the temptress’s performance, Sheela’s nether regions roiled with musty, heady excitement, and Debbie, in turn, smelling it, making HER cum even more than she already was.

Sheela’s arsenal of amazingly limber stretchings – every one of the from the splits position – was too much for Debbie to put up a defense against. She knew that staring and staring at the agile eye candy was probably not in her best interests, but Debbie had never seen before seen such enticing physicality, insidiously throwing a wrench in her gears of sober resolve, her mind softening up to the idea of savouring a moment (or two) of such mesmerizing perfection.

It seemed to Debbie that Sheela could almost read her mind – whenever Debbie showed signs of stirring (possibly leaving?), Sheela’s sudden change in exercise definitely kept Debbie rooted to the doorway. After two? five? ten? minutes of rhythmic ass gyrations at different speeds with impossible-to-predict reversals in direction, Sheela changed to a different manoeuvre, which at first distressed Debbie, who got caught up in Sheela’s game of Guess How Long My Ass Will Rotate In One Direction, Then Back The Other Way, but when the acrobatic dervish put her arms straight out to her sides, so that they were parallel to her legs, Debbie felt like she had just made a joyous new discovery, the floodgates down below probably showing through her pants soon, but strangely not caring about it – almost welcoming it.

In this position, her arms were now held out to invite an embrace, hands and fingers moving sensuously, while her torso – moving like a snake to the music – was somehow able to lean slightly backwards, luring her invisible lover down upon her, those gigantic tits hypnotically heaving, bouncing and rolling upwards the more she leaned back.

“Oh YES, Charusheela,” she said as she gently shook her tits back and forth and held this seemingly impossible position for a while, as Debbie kept on mentally pinching herself, as if to say “Holy fucking shit how can she hold that fucking position?!?! And those mammoth fucking tits!!!! Am I really seeing what I’m fucking seeing?” The way Sheela could create the illusion of balancing her enormous melons on such a slender, short abdomen for…..how long?……made Debbie’s knnes buckle again, her focus so greedily zero’ed in on Sheela’s unbelievably large hooters, bouncing back and forth, or in an easy up and down motion, or swaying in graceful “U” formations, or quick little seductive jigglings, or burlesque, lolling circles. Sheela’s long-nailed hands moved in that revolving, undulating way that belly-dancers do, on open, inviting arms, the tip of her middle fingers touching her thumbs (the long, gleaming nails slightly criss-crossed to each other to allow actual contact of the fingertips, the other fingers fanned out enticingly, the light reflecting off the tip of a pinky-nail that somehow made Debbie think of a scorpion’s tail), or sometimes her fingers were beckoning come-hither, the middle finger curling the most, or wiggling them vigorously as if to invoke a force that only Sheela’s kundalini could bring out. The sinuous writhing of her upper body kept perfect time with the pulsating music.

One of the most powerful forces known to man, barely contained in a stretched-out bikini top.

Meanwhile, back on the toilet, Grant’s scrotum was getting sore from the beating it took from his fist, so gloriously pumping the fuck out of his hard-as-fucking-steel seven inches, with diligent, cupped rubbings over the purplish mushroom head – slick with precum – as his hand came up to the top of the shaft, as well as when it started to come down again. It had been WAY too long since his 54-year-old cock “represented” like this. He didn’t care how much of his rut-stink Debbie will smell when she uses the loo next. He didn’t care about “covet not thy boarder”. He especially didn’t care about the “Martin Factor”.

The more he thought about that “factor”, the more violently and persistently and BURNINGLY his manmeat throbbed and bobbed, and he wondered if Sheela actually did have what it takes to pull off such shenanigans, and if he was able to stand up to whatever she had under her sleeve, or, under ANY article of her skimpy clothing. All he had to do was blow off steam in the can whenever Sheela’s company got too much for him to take. The exhilaration of the rejuvenation of mojo was worth the inconvenience. Debbie worked out of the home as a seamstress, so if Sheela was around the house, Debbie would very likely be nearby, rendering the chance for fooling around next to impossible. And the access codes to his research were indeed in the impenetrable vault of his brain.

Content with those rationalizations, Grant gleefully kept up his wanking, hard-wired into the beat of Sheela’s music, and obsessing, the more and more he thought about them, over certain …..snapshots…..mementos, that his cerebral cortex was working in overdrive to remember, to archive, picture by picture, treasures like Sheela slowly removing her back-pack, running her hands through her hair and then whipping it around (two pictures), tugging up her shorts down the hall, and her classic pin-up pose at the window after she brought the cyclist to his destruction (Norman Rockwell gone bad. Evil.)

This last image set off that churning tickle in his loins for a much-needed ejaculation, and not just because of Sheela’s incredibly appetizing profile, but also how she managed, within moments of setting foot in their house, to exert enough power of her stunning sexuality (through gratuitous tit-shaking) to bring peril to others. He looked forward to an enormous treasure trove of mementoes and snapshots to come, much as he looked forward to just sitting there on that toilet and continue choking that chicken, which turned out to be a need much stronger than the relief of coming – the torture of prolonged, addictive pleasure.

That pleasure was soon to come to a head again when he thought about Sheela’s pesky little pendant. The light-flickering thing drove him crazy – how easy it was to get distracted by it, especially when it’s perched on one of the nicest pairs of tits he’d ever seen in his entire life. He especially looked forward to catching whatever glimpses of it he could in the future, and gave definite indications to Sheela – quietly, when Debbie wasn’t looking – that the pendant was appreciated. This appreciation, of course, was ignited by the provocative way Sheela directed those untrustworthy cat-eyes of hers down to the pendant – then back up to him – as he stood there at the door when he first laid eyes on her.

His balls, cock and fist were drenched and sticky from precum that seeped, unending, from his cock, and as he kneaded and cupped his bag with his left hand and stroked his shaft with his right, a distant voice in the back of his mind told him that this was all completely wrong, but that was soon obliterated by a combination of her lingering scent and images of her in his mind. The more he stroked, the more blessed he felt, as though, by some divine providence, the Harris household was anointed with an entity so beyond Grant’s sexual desires and fantasies, that all that really mattered was Sheela, and simply……to look at her. Or maybe have her straddling right down on top of him, right there on the toilet. As long as he didn’t outwardly let on to either of them that he would kill to pin Sheela up against the wall with her legs wrapped around him…….

Like a distant lighthouse light barely piercing through darkness, the idea crept into Debbie’s mind that their 17-year-old son, Ray, might be home soon from after-school basketball practice, and for the first time since Debbie first laid eyes on Sheela’s performance, she gathered herself enough to actually look away from her to look down both ends of the hall. Grant was probably in front of the TV by now, and when her thoughts returned to Ray, it finally dawned on her, sickeningly, that he would eventually have some part in an equation that now included this slightly crazy, beautiful Indian girl.

Acting on a spontaneous flight impulse Debbie had turned away from the door when Sheela went, “Oh yes, Grant! I knew it all along! YYYYES!” Or at least that’s what Debbie thought she heard, and of course – even realizing as she was doing it – she took the bait and re-investigated to see Sheela, no longer doing her splits but now on her knees, her left hand up in front of her, miming fluid, circular hand-job strokes, her right hand just underneath, those long, light-reflecting fingernails making a tickling/strumming motion, and then a slow, flat-handed, palm-up, rubbing-with-fingertips motion. Whipping her hair from her face, she changed her stroking hand from a circular motion to just straight up and down rapid-fire machine gun pumpings, her mouth and teeth an open snarl (or so Debbie could discern, with Sheela facing the other way.) as her other hand was now doing slapping gestures – a couple hard forehands, a couple hard backhands, then single slaps back and forth.

Slowing down her stroking, Sheela looked upwards – where a face would be – and over the loud music Debbie was flabbergastedly positive she heard Sheela say, projecting with a slightly less bird-like voice, to be heard, “Oh I know, Grant, yes, I know. I knew it when you first looked at me, you wanted me. It was so cute seeing your hands in that bathrobe the whole time! Nice to give it some air, hm? And a little bit of my tenderloving care, hm?”

Aware that Debbie would most likely act on this, Sheela deftly reached behind and undid the string to her bikini top. She stretched both ends taut, out to the sides, her body suddenly stock still. Looking upwards, she slowly shook her tits, a nice, easy rhythm that kept perfect half-time with the catchy hybrid electronic music. The way Sheela’s breasts laaaaaz-ily swung side to side made Debbie focus on the perfect figure-eight motion they achieved – two great, lolling forces of enormous, pert tit-flesh, probably generating their own centrifugal force to power enough electricity required to run (Debbie speculated, in spite of her more rational, inner voice saying wtf?) a multi-entry vibrator – kept in their safe in the basement – that Grant secretly bought for Debbie on their fifteenth anniversary, her hair dryer, alarm clock, massage pads, and then the list came to an abrupt halt when Sheela’s figure-eight boobie formation changed – to tiny little jiggles back and forth, her index fingers slowly twirling both ends of the string around them until they reached the triangles of the bikini, each forefinger evenly covered with string, right to the tips. The nails poked out comically.

“Oh Grant, look at these as HARD and STIFF as you can,” said the dark jezebel, as she lifted up her skimpy top with an exaggerated gasp of sexual abandon, her face slightly turned so Debbie could see those sweet, upturned, glossy lips going “OH”. Looking back at the imaginary face of Grant, Sheela nodded, slowly. Her hands, (still holding up the top), were tucked under her chin, forcing her forearms to squeeze those gigantic, gravity-defying hooters together, and for a couple moments, held this position, and then jiggled them coyly, with hesitant, little shakes.

The fact alone that Sheela’s breasts were huge enough to stick out from the sides of her thin waist (for Debbie to monitor their movements, closely) was enough for the 45-year-old seamstress to be profoundly grateful for the bounty of sweet, irresistible lusciousness that had befallen the household. Sure, Sheela was coming on to her husband (albeit very indirectly), but the perfection of the Indian temptress’s beauty and movements took wicked precedence over any qualms Debbie might have had.

“Hey mom,” said Ray, at the kitchen end of the hall, putting his knapsack on a wall hook. The power in Debbie’s knees was suddenly restored by this jolt of reality. Confused what to do next, Debbie closed Sheela’s door, and was on the verge of turning to Ray and walking that way when she noticed – just in the nick of time – a huge mess in the front of her blue spandex shorts. She waved to Ray, and walked the other way to the master bedroom, her heart beating, praying she wouldn’t bump into Grant. Sanctuary would be her top dresser drawer (panties), then two drawers down, for jeans, and then a bee-line to the washroom.

The washroom door, to Debbie’s horror, was still closed, however, and instead decided to just bite the bullet and do a quick clothing change and throw the offending material into the laundry basket all before Grant comes out of their bathroom. Listening for any stirrings that might indicate Grant coming out, Debbie frantically (and QUIETLY) tried to complete her mission while coming to the dreadful conclusion as to why he’d be in the can for so long. Whipping her belt on, the buckle smacked into an open drawer, much to Debbie’s chagrin.

Hearing this, Grant pricked his ears further. With Sheela’s door closed, he could hear things more closely, and was able to make out the sound of a zipper getting slowly zipped up, and the light, metal tinkling of a belt buckle getting hooked up. Turning to stone with complete mortification, (while his erection doing the opposite in intent), Grant tried to reach over and lock the door without her hearing (unsuccessfully), and then turned on the sink taps – while remaining on the throne, adjacent – and wrung out a hot soapy cloth. The noise of the sink he didn’t care about, but the turning of the lock was a sound that he didn’t want Debbie to hear, considering that he’d never used it before. He was relieved it was only precum to clean off, and not the whole load, given that he was already going to get busted, and so he figured – might as well smell up the place only half-strength “wild boar” instead of full-strength. He was also somewhat relieved there was nothing on his clothes or anywhere else other than his hands and loins.

The other, guilty, soiled party was gathering an early laundry – including its newest, rolled-up addition – when she heard a doorknock down the hall (Ray at Sheela’s door?), wheeled out of the bedroom, into the hall, and just in time to see the light from Sheela’s room wash over Ray as her door opened. Something else washed over Ray as his eyes took in Sheela, head to toe – a softening glow that was a red flag to Debbie for intervention. The expression of awe that washed over Ray deepened the longer he looked at her.

“Ray!” his mother found herself almost shouting, prompting a brief, irritated look from him before he looked again at their first (and sweet, “tight”) boarder. In what looked like car-accident-slow-motion to Debbie, Sheela’s hand came into view. Debbie wanted to call out to her son again, but instead watched – with that otherworldly mix of blood-freezing dread and overwhelming lust – when Ray took Sheela’s hand, and then, her other hand covered his, just like the “vagina handshake” that she used on Debbie earlier. Ray’s eyes drifted down and back up again , his face a study in restrained appreciation. Jutting her big tits at him, Sheela sensuously withdrew her soft, smooth clasp that lingered way too long for Debbie’s comfort.

“Laundry room’s the other way.”

“Thanks, Ray, .um, Sheela….” Debbie started to say, but then noticed there was something different about Sheela. She had put her white cut-off top and cut-off jeans back on again……but something…..…”can you make sure to have your music down a lot lower please and also keep the door closed….just to….you know…..for privacy, and things.”

“Oh for privacy, of course! Heaven forbid some stranger sneak in on helpless me in the middle of the night when everyone else is sound, sound asleep, and me, I’m wide, wide awake, sometimes just tossing and turning, until my whole body is sticking to the sheets with my sweat……maybe……(looking at Ray)…..waiting?”

“Don’t you worry, any home invaders or wierdos comin in after ya will have to say hi to my brass knuckles I made in shop after school, heh.”

Debbie’s “You what?!?” got overtaken by Sheela’s “Mmmmmm, that sounds soooo nice of you. A woman can be very grateful for a man’s…..willingness, and devotion, Ray, to make her feel……attended to…..looked over…..A gratitude, Ray, that a woman will never make you forget.”

Losing patience and ready to slap Sheela, Debbie defused at the sight of the bemused expression on her son’s face, despite his eventual lingering look at Sheela a moment later. Scratching his nose, Ray was suddenly blasted with a good whiff of the essence her hands bequeathed unto his own with her “pussy handshake”, which was the exact phrase that came to Ray’s mind. Debbie saw the fingers remain there as he took a furtive yet very deep breath, his eyes drawn to Sheela’s again, who in turn took note of Debbie’s change of pants and gave her a knowing, slit-eyed smile, her right eyebrow slightly cocked, before looking back again at her newest admirer.

Relieved that a sober mind was prevailing over spread-eagled lust, Debbie said, “anyway bucko I’m sure there’s better things you can do with yourself than make weapons that’ll prrrrrrrobably get you into trouble……”

“And I’ll keep my music down, Mrs, Harris.”

“You can call me Debbie,” and with that, Debbie hesitantly parted ways, her mind desperately reeling for some kind of chore or directive to issue to Ray to get him away from the Indian flirt, but remained on her course down the hall, and listened to their quiet voices, and Sheela’s soft laughter. Each step further away from them felt like a further relinquishing of her hold on her son, and painfully realized the impossibility of trying to quarantine him from someone in such close quarters. As she loaded the washer, she finally realized what it was about Sheela that seemed different about her – just then, with Ray – than when she first arrived: she was no longer wearing that mesmerizing heart-shaped necklace that caught the light in flickering, eye-catching flashes. Debbie’s loins rekindled that delicious heat when she thought about the way Sheela slyly looked down at her necklace and then snuck a look at Debbie, always “busted” each time, yet relishing in escaping Grant’s notice, creating a “just us two” thing that Debbie had the foresight to think twice about as she threw her drenched panties in the washer.

And while Debbie attended to her laundry, Ray got further acquainted with Sheela.

“My goodness Ray, you must have soooooo many girls all over you, no?”

“……..Well, there’s someone I’ve been mackin’ for a while, and-“

“-what was that? Mackin’?

“oh…. mackin’ someone…uh….that’s when you’re, like, tryin to…kinda….”

“…….seduce someone?” Sheela said, imperceptibly leaning closer to him, her voice an incredibly sensuous near-whisper.

“Yeah, sure”

“Seduction, Ray, is the most beautiful game a woman can play on a man. You can use your skills to charm this sweetie of yours, Ray, but when a woman is able to intoxicate the vision of a man, when a woman can cast her spell on him, Ray, and make him do whatever she wishes, then, and only then, Ray, is the seduction truly complete. The art of seduction, Ray, is the most electrifying, cathartic thing that can happen between a man and a woman. The eventual sex is anti-climactic, there is no intrigue. The seduction, though…..the way a woman catches a man’s attention, the way she can….sow the seeds of passion in him, and make him boil over with lust that makes him go blind, Ray, to everything, except the woman to whom he is beholden…….THAT, my fine young man, is the kind of seduction I am talking about. Do you understand what I mean?”

Sheela’s lightness of voice and accent bamboozled Ray enough to allow her to be so forward. With a racing heart – his whole body beginning to feel like one, big, throbbing palpitation – he concentrated on getting his breathing even so that he’d sound cool and steady for talking. And those curves – Ray did everything he could not to ogle a body as fine as any he had personally seen. Those giant, firm tits – all Ray had to do was just bring his hands up, and then forward twelve inches, and BOOM! he’d be squeezing his way to heaven. His mind was reeling with thoughts about if Sheela’s breasts were real; what exactly he’d tell his friends about this hot new boarder; how bangable might she be; how easy her wickedly sexy eyes were to look into.

“Hello?”

“oh, uh, I…uh.”

“I was asking you, sweetie, if you grasp the idea of how beautiful it is fall to love with a woman who can make you WANT to do almost ANYTHING for her, anything, Ray, so that you may eventually end up in her arms…….anything, Ray, for her, to please her, in hopes that she may welcome you again into her sweet embrace, her sweet lips…her legs, Ray, wrapped sooooooo tight around you, my sweet thing, and the PROMISE of such things, Ray, that COMES with the seduction.”

“Ray!” said Grant, in the same, startled way Debbie had, coming out of the bedroom, and tugging up his pants a little. Ray was doubly glad, now, that he was wearing his tight briefs instead of boxers (because of practice), the tensile strength of the former providing sufficient restraint to keep his completely helpless admiration for Sheela (somewhat) in check under (thankfully) loose-fitting shorts.

“Whew!” said Grant, waving an arm, approaching them, “shouldn’t you be taking a shower?”

“And shouldn’t you’ve picked me up at four?”

With a hot flush of blood surging through him, Grant remembered that he was supposed to pick up Ray after practice. He knew his ears and face were on fire, and realized that he must have been sitting on that john for….30? 45? 60? minutes. He didn’t want to speculate much further on that, and feebly offered to Ray that he was held up with some colleagues, his face getting even hotter over the prospect of a beaming Sheela burning a hole through him. For an awkward moment nobody said anything.

“But you DO smell something awful”, said Grant, and turning to Sheela, added, “and I’m sure our lady guest here would concur.”

“She’d probably also ‘concur’ that you were BUTTIN IN on a nice little conversation we were having here – noone’s hurtin’ noone, we were just mindin’ our own business, it’s all cool, you know.”

Sheela perked right up, shifting her stance with enough vigour to make her tits shake, and punctuated Ray’s rejoinder with a soft, mischievous gasp – further puffing out her huge, dome-nippled cantaloupes at them in the process (temporarily flooring them) – and showily put those long-fingernailed hands up to her open, sweet, kissable mouth, and then looked expectantly at Grant, goading him with the most infinitesimal shift in the balls of her feet to set off another subtle yet cataclysmic mammarian tectonic shift, right within their groping range.

“Noone’s saying you were hurting anyone or not minding your business or whatever. I was just saying th-“

“-I like sometimes the sweat of a man. As long as he is not TOO rank,” said Sheela, and then turning from Grant to Ray, “It can be almost a sexual turn-on, in a much more…..animalistic….way.”

“yeah, yeah yeah whatever, obviously I’m-“

“-whatever YOURSELF, dad, like, she was like….saying something, and you had to go and…….”

“………yes? What!”

Sheela, placing her fanned hand on her upper chest as if to acknowledge Ray’s valour, suggested, “I think what this knight in shining armor is trying to get across is, basically – he has a desire to hear what I have to say to the fullest extent possible. Even if that means shutting everything else out, completely, so that the desire GROWS to listen to my voice, and to my voice only. It’s like this concentration exercise that I’ve done on my past boyfriends……they loved it…..they couldn’t get enough of it after a while – the CONCENTRATING, I MEAN! – they just……got so…….addicted? Yes, that’s definitely it – addicted. Maybe if you two fine gentlemen stay in my good books long enough I just might allow the both of you the pleasure of experiencing how stimulating and exciting it is to just…..give in……to UNBURDEN yourselves with my concentration exercise! You will love it!”

“Yeah – that sounds hella fine! To me, anyway.”

“Regardless – you really COULD use that shower I was just talking about, hm.?”

“Maybe when I’m good and ready and finished talking to her, how ‘bout?”

The Indian cocktease murmured the world’s quietest “mmmm!”, flicked her hair back, and then ran her hands through it, her raised arms, in sideways “V” formations, allowing her mesmerizing 40 DD’s to so easily become their focus, so compelling, so…..near., to reclaim their attention again. Arching that truncated back of hers certainly didn’t detract from matters, and only made Grant pine – no, lust madly – for a profile view of that pose instead, like the “Polaroid Moment” after her distracting the cyclist, instead of the full, straight-on view of Sheela, which made Grant reconsider, actually, the quite enticing impact of such big, firm knockers, seemingly barely attached to her – her short waist was that incredibly thin – and so near to him, poking him in the eye. The thread-like waist of the mud wasp that stung Ray last summer reminded him of the narrow, short – TINY – isthmus that linked Sheela’s tits and ass.

The father and son were temporarily flummoxed by the direction the conversation had taken, realising that they never had a confrontation like this before, but also realising that an underlying power struggle – brewing mildly over the past year or so – might be finally coming to a head, fueled by Sheela’s extremely subtle, yet incredibly tantalizing, cajolings.

“Look, Ray – I’m not tr-“

“-actually I have a light that burnt out in my room. Here,” said the luscious little vixen, pointing to above her bed. In the next instant she was standing on it, bouncing slightly, reaching up, still shy of the light, but certainly not shy around her newest thralls as she smiled encouragingly at Ray with dancing eyebrows. Finding themselves at her bedside as though coming out of a daze, Ray and Grant suddenly regarded each other, their mutual contempt fiercer than ever.

“O.k. for shit’s sakes R-“

“-what the fuck? I just wanna help her!”

“You just wanna FUCK her.”

“Yeah and look who’s talking, standing right at the edge of her bed ALSO, ass-hole!”

“Ray – do I have to ask you again?”

“It was at ME she was smiling at. Not you, o.k.?! ME. Shouldn’t THAT tell you something?”

“Uh – o-kaaayeeee, here, boys. What’s going on here, perhaps?” said Debbie, trying to process – as rationally as possible – the sight of her husband, standing at the very left edge of Sheela’s bed, and her son, standing at the very foot of her bed, while Sheela was standing ON the bed, or, more like – going up and down on it, very, very slightly, JUST enough to get a little bit of up and down tit shaking going on, and, to bring back Debbie’s soul-wracking dread/lust feeling again, a brief glimpse of the saucy new boarder gently cooing “yes” during the newly-acquainted rivals’ spat.

“Oh Debbie! Such gallant servants come to my side in my time of need! My bulbs burnt out, I mean my bulb burnt out and these very capable, willing men are almost fighting tooth and nail over fixing that bulb, Debbie, and putting it in the socket again, sticking it back in again. Or, I mean, a new one…..a new bulb….to stick it in…..”

This somehow subdued matters, as Ray left the bedroom without looking at his mom, and Grant got up on the bed and almost brushed right up against Sheela’s tits as he tried to centre his balance on the crappy, way-too-soft mattress. Standing on his toes, he was barely able to reach the nut holding on the lampshade. Instinctively Sheela grabbed onto the waist of his jeans as he began to slowly teeter toward her. She was equally quick to shrug at Debbie as if to say, “what else could I do?”, which was, Debbie had to concede, true, however, the sight of her husband looking like he was diving toward the delicious spotter in front of him was a sight that really hammered home that turned-to-stone anguish intermingled with a lust so diabolical and engrossing and brain-numbing that Debbie felt more moisture stirring up down below.

“Uuuuhhh,” cooed Sheela when Grant finally unscrewed the bulb. When he looked down again, his eyes fell right into hers. As he brought his arms down, Sheela kept her claws in his belt loops almost long enough to get in the way of his hands coming down, and withdrew them, but not before jabbing a thumbnail hard into an area of his loins seven inches northwest of his manhood – using his body to block Debbie’s view – and rejoiced in Grant’s complete restraint of reaction, as well as the knowledge that she successfully triggered an erogenous spot, his eyes and lips dilating just after she jabbed him.

“Oh thank-you my good man, Grant,” said Sheela, backing down off the bed while still facing him, and took his hand in hers, leading him, as he stepped down too. Debbie, behind him, could see Grant’s flex of cheek muscle as he looked down at the fiendish smile on Sheela’s face – a face that could switch gears in an instant, such as when she walked past Grant when she first entered the house, or, right then, when her inviting gaze, looking up at Grant, transformed instantly to predatory when she looked over at Debbie – not even the slightest flinch of being discovered or guilty – instead, Sheela was cool, malevolent, beautiful.

As they parted looks and hands way too lingeringly for Debbie’s comfort, Sheela said, “but when will you be back to stick it in?”

“Oh I’ll…..you’ll bet I’ll….” Grant trailed off, his efforts to remember the whereabouts of a new bulb hampered by lusting over the connotations of his response to her “stick it in” phrase, which she enounced pointedly enough to emblazon itself into the cerebral cortex of the biology professor, his testicles dancing up and down, uncontrollably. Again Debbie ushered Grant out of Sheela’s room, and down the hall to the closet, where indeed they had run out of lightbulbs.

“Great – so what the fuck we do now? I go down to the store to get more bulbs? Or just go downstairs and steal a bulb off the ceiling? Or maybe just bend over and shoot that perennial rainbow out of my ass?”

“Grant – you do whatever the fuck you want, alright? I’m gonna go catch up on some back orders. I had a late lunch so I might grab a small bite later on tonight.” This kind of pronouncement was Debbie’s way of saying she was wanting her own space that night, which suited Grant just fine, making it easier to simply contemplate, in the den, on the lovely new boarder who definitely gave him enough encouraging looks – right from when he first saw her, at the front door – to make him gloat and fantasize about all the potential scenarios that can arise in future………”proximities” to Sheela.

In Ray’s bedroom, the basketball player madly lubricated his cock with way too much ky jelly, pumping and jerking away like it was it his last opportunity ever to masturbate. His cock felt like it COULD NOT STOP from getting harder and harder and throbbing and bobbing, his mind racing frenetically with the main image of Sheela standing on the bed, her hypnotic gazongas undulated nicely, gently. Sheela’s lascivious expression of dancing eyebrows and flashing teeth, luring Ray to the edge of her bed, was the second most prevalent image swirling maliciously in his overloaded head, making the stifling of his ejaculation his SUDDEN priority, hoping instead to just……kick back, real good……..and just……give’er……and give’er, imagining all the different opportunities that could arise when living under the same roof with maybe the sexiest looking chick he’d ever seen in his whole life. Living. On. The. Other. Side. Of. This. Wall.

It was awkward jerking his cock with his left hand, but his trusty ol’ right hand was plastered against his nose the whole time, as he frantically sniffed the entire surface, fingers included, sucking up whatever pulse-quickening perfume that Sheela had encased all over his hand with her pussy handshake. The more he inhaled Sheela’s essence the harder and harder his cock seemed to get. It felt like his cock was on fire, straining to get bigger than it ever had before. At one point he even wondered if all this wanking was getting out of control, but the idea to slow down, let alone to stop thinking about Sheela, was a biological impossibility, her seductive aroma re-wiring Ray’s olfactory senses, powering all his body’s energy into his cock and balls, at times getting a headrush (fueled by holding his breath for orgasm-delaying intervals). His mind swirled, overjoyed, at the thought of being submersed in this scent, and realised that this is the closest he’d ever come to “hitting the jackpot” in any actual way, to carefully bide his time under the same roof with the hottest piece of tail on the planet.

By the time he was about to shower, he found himself glued to the toilet seat and jerking his cock, frenzied like a rutting animal, and decided to shave his nuts smooth and commence stroking with his right hand so he could work as much of Sheela’s lingering essence all over his testicles, kneading them, squeezing them, unaware Sheela had orchestrated this to mark her territory. Ray loved the feeling of his smooth nuts absorbing her essence, and even went so far as to bend right over to smell Sheela on his cock. In the shower, he faced the other way, awkwardly soaping down with his left hand to avoid water contact on his right hand, AND package. He came dangerously close to shooting his load when thinking about the next opportunity to get another of Sheela’s slow-motion pussy handshakes – preferably right in front of his newly-minted asshole of a dad.

When the loud orgasmic groan escaped from an immediately embarrassed and pissed-off Ray in the shower, Debbie got startled and dropped her mickey of vodka onto a pile of fabric. At least she capped it back up again. Debbie figured Sheela could be officially discharged out of their home for improper conduct if she and Ray were caught doing the nasty, and at the rate this maneater operated, her son and Sheela would most likely get it on sooner than later, prompting Debbie to rationalize it might be the quickest way to get Sheela out of their house. As far as Grant was concerned, that was another matter, and for the time being, she got the next carton of orange juice out of her mini-fridge and mixed her ninth screwdriver.

In the den, Grant sat in front of the Monday night football without registering it. Astonished that he couldn’t concentrate on anything John Madden was saying, Grant shrugged it off as he continued mindlessly massaging his groin, his full-on erection jutting madly against his jeans as he alternately pinched the head area, then rubbed his nuts until his fingertips burned against the denim. Quite gleefully he resigned to the eventual gunk of pre-cum smearings at the waistline of his jeans, confident that Debbie was going to stay where she was. Whenever his thoughts drifted back to his fallen friend and colleague Martin, Grant’s sperm factory went into overdrive each time that concern devolved into a scenario with Sheela at the helm, alternately ripping Martin’s hair out with his face between her legs, or bringing his face up to her tits while she’s riding him. He could hear the blood race and throb in his ears with the tv down low, and made his cock soften enough to place it directly over his scrotum, allowing him to grab one big jean bulge, and to feel the pressure of his totally hindered cock, wanting to stretch up again in the opposite direction.

“….sticks to everything!” Grant overheard from a commercial, the “stick” reference further making his loins a cauldron of squishy, roiling flesh, as he phased out the game further so he could swim in a murky, lusting fever, his range of vision decreasing the more he obsessed about Sheela, and how he must find a way to fuck her, good and true……for all Grant was starting to care, that Indian seductress could fuck his brains out, then somehow drug him or incapacitate him or whatever it is that these espionage gals do and then search through all his belongings…..the best she could do was maybe steal a master card, while the more important matters, like the codes to his research, would be nowhere to be found.

“Hi!” said Sheela, peeking her head in, her long-nailed fingers grabbing around the door. Grant wasn’t sure if he was more startled or elated at the sudden intrusion. She was wearing lululemons and a skimpy blood red halter top, the latter just barely covering those enormous, puffy nipples, her endless cleavage making Grant’s heart skip a beat or two. The necklace she was wearing had a green, luminescent pendant that bounced on her ripe chest whenever she moved enough. Strutting toward him with a sexiness that was so natural – making it all the sexier, so…..curvy – Sheela luxuriously brought her hands up through her hair and let it cascade out in the same way when they first met (and later on, when she had fanned hostilities between Ray and him at her doorway).

“Mind if I sit?” Sheela asked as she was already sitting down, and added, “you must be really really under a lot of strain, or out of sorts, Grant. It seems you are incredibly distracted.”

“How do you mean?”

“Wwwwell, I’m not sure if you completely forgot about poor little me alone, in the dark, needing you, to…..STICK? IN? the new bulb for me, hm?”

“Oh SHIT.”

At the same instant he was going to get off the couch, Sheela pounced on him merely with the electromagnetic power of soft fingertips just clammy enough to apply a glue to surfaces like the inside of Grant’s left bicep, making his cock twitch involuntarily again, her soft, almost mock-innocent voice assuring him, “No, no, don’t worry, Grant, just relax, don’t worry about it right now, o.k.? Good, yes, that’s it, Grant, just let yourself sit back, there will be due time, Grant, to get that new bulb and stick it in for me, ok? I can understand your impatience for wanting to stick it in, or I mean the bulb, I mean, but I promise, I will let you eventually stick it in, Grant, just give it time……”

As Sheela talked, she played with her pendant, her fingers sensuously holding it at different angles, her pinky sometimes sticking straight out like she was holding a tea cup. Grant was looking at the pendant and then looking away, feeling that something wasn’t quite right…..a little voice in the back of his head told him that maybe he shouldn’t get carried away looking at the way Sheela occasionally let the pendant drop down onto her chest, the resulting bounce caused by the area of stretched-taut halter between her tits. There was something about this……something……. her swiftness of actions making him wonder if she genuinely did have some agenda that night not be in his best interests. The pendant, however, was quite fascinating to look at – the way it sometimes caught the light. Even the very tip of her wayward pinky nail madly aroused him with a softly reflected beam of light.

“Ah yes – I see you like my pendant, Grant. It’s very nice to look at, isn’t it?”

“Didn’t you have a different one earlier? That little-“

“-yes, my little Mirror of Love, I like to call it. My ex-boyfriends, Grant, always, ALWAYS had a very, VERRRRY difficult time trying to deicide which pendant they enjoyed looking at more – this one, or my sweet little Mirror of Love……Life’s decisions, hm!? Anyway, I see you’ll be ex-TREME-ly receptive, Grant, to my concentration exercise, which will make you much more relaxed and focused, because right now….well, like I was saying….you DO seem….not quite……….right….if I may say so?”

Yeah – I’spose……I dunno…..maybe I might just snooze off a little and-“

“-oh but Grant,” she said as she regained his attention by shifting her sitting position on his couch, directly facing him now, her legs crossed, back arched, shoulders back, breasts thrust out. Her changing position made the pendant bounce up and down, off tits that seemed to almost reach out to Grant, DEMANDING to be squeezed and salivated on, which in turn made his bulge suddenly much more visible to Sheela.

“Here – c’mon. Turn this way. Face me, Grant. Let’s give this concentration exercise a try, o.k.? It’s certainly the least you can do after leaving me in the dark, and meanwhile I’m waiting to put lotion aaallll o-ver me……if I can’t SEE all that nice-smelling lotion being put all over me, the experience is not as thorough, nor is it as satisfying. You must be very……distracted, Grant…..about something…….something that affects your thinking so that all you can think about is that one, and only, thing, Grant., and begin to lose track of all responsibilities, and your short-term mammaries I mean memory go out the window…..yes….it sounds like you are nice and ripe for a concentration exercise – you’ll be amazed at how free you will feel.”

“I…I….”

“You look very tired, Grant.”

“HO-yeah you can say that again……but I also feel ……kinda……”

“…….yes, Grant? Please share it with me.”

He wanted to say horny, sitting dumbly on the couch, but decided to indulge Sheela with this concentration exercise, and turned toward her now, his left arm up on the back of the couch, looking steadily at the green pendant that she brandished from between those enormous jugs. Occasionally he’d look away and rub his eyes, only to get sucked back into Sheela’s world with her unrelenting arsenal of distraction tactics, and with each time Sheela had his attention again, the longer it would take him to rouse himself away from looking at the Indian beauty and the gleaming, rich greenness of the pendant, and look somewhere else – anywhere – as long as it was away from this vision of almost cartoonishly perfect pulchritude that was taking hold of him in a way that was distinctly beginning to disconcert him a little. Certainly to the point of making him forget what he was going to say.

“I can see confusion in you, Grant, like you’re trying to….fight something,” and, with the wicked smile creeping in, her teeth flashing, “trying to…..RESIST, something, Grant. I can see, deep inside, feelings that are needing BADLY to come out.” Sheela began doing a rope-pulling gesture, one hand after another, sensuously pulling in towards that sweet spot directly under her tits, and saying “let me PUUULLLLL those feelings out of you Grant. Let me find out what your DEEPEST, TRUEST feelings are, Grant, as I keep pulling and pulling it out if you, just grabbing hold and YANKING it out of you, giving it a good jerk, exposing it out in the open…..giving it a little air, yes?”

“Look, Sheela – I’m sure this concentration exercise is all fine and dandy and everything, but, I……I dunno, I….”

“…..hm?…….I see you like to look at this pendant, Grant – that I can definitely say for sure. Which is perfect, because, to focus on my pendant, Grant, is the key to enjoying my concentration exercise! You see? You will be amazed how EASY it is, to just look and look at this precious stone, to see how DEEPLY the green gets…….It’s so beautiful, would you agree?”

“Sure, but-“

“-isn’t a beautiful sight worth seeing for an extended” (a quick look at Grant’s loins) “length of time? Especially if you like, very much, what you are seeing? You have to admit, you DO like to look at my pendant, just like the way you like my Mirror of Love that I was wearing earlier. Do YOU, Grant, know which one you desire to look at more and more?……..concentrate nice and HARD on this!”

Before he could stop himself he said, “I’d have to see the other one again.”

“Oh you will, in due time, you will, Grant. It’s in my bedroom, and you still have to stick it in there, remember? With the bulb?”

“Yeah, um-“

“-don’t worry, when I do a comparison of the two pendants, you’ll be able to decide which one you’ll want to look at more, but for now, I hope this green one will satisfy your needs, for focusing and concentrating on , for letting yourself forget about all external distractions, Grant, and you’ll find that you’re already getting involved in my concentration exercise, simply by your eager displays of desire, Grant, when I let you feast your lucky eyes on my…..pendants…..like this one, for instance, it’s such a rich green that is so deep, so incredibly compelling to look at, Grant, because sometimes the light can catch it in a different way, different SHADES of green, Grant, different lightnesses and darknesses, always different, always so easy to look at.”

“I think a nap right now would pr-“

“-here, look! No hands!” said the dark temptress, smiling mischievously as she let the pendant bounce off the top edge of her stretched-tight halter top, her gleaming, luscious, dark tits sticking out at Grant, the immense cleavage so inviting for his cock to slip up and down in. With that open-mouthed, toothy smile that sometimes gave way, Grant thought, to the slightest snarl, Sheela showed absolutely no visible effort to keep the pendant bouncing off the miniature red trampet at the exact same intervals, creating the illusion to the helplessly aroused professor that the pendant was tick-tocking its repeated lunges at him of its own accord.

“Ah, yes? You like this, Grant? It titillates you? All my lovers, Grant, couldn’t get enough of this part of the concentration exercise. It was almost like a challenge to them – to see if I can maintain the same level of bounce, the same height, Grant, each time the pendant bounces off my top like this, almost like it’s doing it all on its own, no? I see it visually excites you, Grant, just like all the others. The inevitability of it!”

“o.k., Sheela…..I’m a family man, o.k.? Who happens to have a son and a wife who could walk in here any time, and so it w-“

“-oh, I assure you, Grant – we’ll be going to my bedroom soon enough. To stick it in, remember? But in the mea-“

“-no but that’s the thing, though…..all this…..’sticking it in’ talk, and this concentration stuff…..I mean…..I’ll be able to grab a bulb from downstairs and sti- uuhhh I mean PUT it….like……IN…..the socket, and everything, but…..this…..all this….” Grant gestured vaguely toward her breasts.

Maintaining a nice, even pendant bounce, she said, “You mean this, Grant? How I like to bounce the pendant off my top like this? But why fight it, though? You DO admit, don’t you Grant, that it looks wonderful to see the nice glowing pendant going up and down like this, right directly in the middle, on my chest, right? Correct?”

“Yes but-“

-kind of like….it is coming repeatedly toward you, would you agree?”

“I would not doubt that in the le-“

“-AND, in so admiring it in the way that you are, in the way that I KNOW you are, you could almost start making comparisons – like some of the more important men in my life have done – of what this part of my concentration exercise reminds you of. For instance, my favourite metaphor is “The Battering Ram”: where you start to concentrate about being in this protective fortress that keeps on getting bashed and battered repeatedly, over and over, by my beautiful, beautiful pendant, ALWAYS keeping up the same penetrations, right at you, like it’s going straight through your forehead and deep into the deepest parts of your brain, breaking down those protective walls of RESISTANCE, Grant, breaking them down, even if it takes a long, long time. The minds of all men, Grant, like the strongest fortresses ever made, ALL have their breaking point, ALL succumb, eventually, to repeated……batterings…….and bashings, each time, a little bit more – the mighty fortress will give way. I know the path to submission should not dwell on such aggressive metaphors, that a more subtle approa-“

“-uuuuhhh what was that you were sa-“

“-approach with gentler, yet equally agreeable metaphors, comparisons, and fantasies, quite often with erotic underto-“

“-way way way way wait a sec… hold on now……..um…..you were saying….something about a…….path to submission?”

“Oh my goodness! I must be getting ahead of myself! You’ll be fascina-“

“-uuuuhhh getting AHEAD OF YOURSELF?”

“No no don’t worry – it’s all about diversions, Grant. You needn’t worry about any path to submission, per se. It all depends on your perspective, Grant, and I admire your sharpness of observation, which is soooooo GOOD for the concentration exercise. But I can still see some doubt in you, my friend. I mean – what harm can little me cause?”

Shrugging, Sheela put her arms up, but also put them BACK, making her tits brazenly jut right out at him, that toothy, open smile of hers occasionally emitting the slightest ”uhs” and “ahs”. Bringing her arms down, her upper body remained slightly leaning towards him to allow optimum thrusting out of her chest, and then she slowly went into a mock-bashful pose, her hands nervously clasped between her legs, making her straight arms squish her tits out, even more, at him. Sheela’s green pendant, meanwhile, kept up its “battering ram” onslaught this whole time, without even the slightest variation in bounce, reigning in Grant’s focus again.

“It seems, Grant, you’re a little on the…..stiff……side, no? You’re finding it really, really HARD to let that resistance break free…..to break down those mighty walls, little by little, one battering ram at a time, constantly working away at you, Grant – I know these things, my pet! It is easier to understand all of this when you get more of that relaxation happening, and then you can think of other comparisons for the movements of my pendant, such as one of my other pets describing the beauuuutiful way the pendant bounces off my nice breasts like this, by saying it’s like a heartbeat, Grant, that keeps beating its passion, its desire, repeatedly, until the heartbeat of the admirer who is captivated by my pendant – his heartbeat – it starts to beat at the same time. And then, as our hearts beat as one, my pet’s heart BECOMES my pendant, Grant – it’s like my pendant has SNATCHED the heart of my admirer away from him because it WANTS to be here, Grant, (Sheeela snuck a look down to her hooters) his heart, safe and sound INSIDE my pendant now, in a place where aaaaallllll men want to be, Grant. Between my tits, my pet.”

Grant had been meaning to bring up the ”pet” and “other pets” thing, but couldn’t be bothered, his fatigue taking over , yet his lust grew by the minute. Deep down he hoped her peculiar show wouldn’t stop, that her pendant dance was indeed nice to watch. His friend Martin drifted in and out of his mind, like a paper bag on a windy street, eventually scooting away. The impending sense of coercion was still prominent in his mind, but much less so after Sheela’s comparison of the pendant as a heart-snatcher. His penis also liked it. But talking about her “nice breasts” and “tits” was a little much, though.

“I gotta say, Sheela……um – you’re very…….hot….and everything, and YES – that IS quite amazing, what you’re doing with the pendant, for sure, but uh……..I think you’re attracted to me and I th-“

“-oh? You sure? Is it possible, my pet, that YOU might be the one who is TRULY attracted to ME? You’re starting to appreciate my pendant a lot more……much, much more, it seems. And I will be honest with you, Grant – I use this pendant to take full advantage of the high visibility of my cleavage, which you DO find QUITE arousing, I can see!”

“O.k. Sheela….I’m married…and…..let’s just…..try and for-“

“-oh that’s no problem at all! I have done many, MANY concentration exercises on LOTS of married gentlemen, Grant, and also on men with girlfriends, and always, ALWAYS, Grant, they love my concentration exercise SO MUCH by the end, after I’ve finished with them. And with you too, Grant – YOU will get hooked on my concentration exercise. Just keep concentrating on my sexy battering ram that will surely snatch that heart of yours away from you! Yes I think it will! Let your desire be your destiny, your true calling, where you had always meant to be, and soon will – you want to believe this!”

“Just because……..you can bounce……..that thing off your tits……is it supposed to……what?…..It’s like – I get this feeling…..a feeling that’s….not too sure about you……that you’re trying to manipu-“

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