An Agency Story: Double Trouble

BOOK: An Agency Story: Double Trouble
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An Agency Story: Double Trouble
© November  2014 by
Emme Salt

 

All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American
Copyright Conventions. No part of this book
may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from
the publisher.

 

This
is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the
product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any
resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or
locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work
are 18 years of age or older.

 

This
book is for sale to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually
explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some
readers. Please store your files where they cannot be access by minors.

 

Excessica LLC

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Alpena, MI 49707

 

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First Edition November 2014

 

Warning:
the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is
illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without
monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in
prison and a fine of $250,000.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Agency Story: Double Trouble

 

By Emme Salt

 

 

Chapter One

The Agency offer was incredibly generous. All expenses
paid, and a stipend to cover a semester’s worth of tuition. It was, of course,
not the first time that I worked for the Agency—last winter, I spent
three weeks with the Stewarts in their Aspen cabin.

It had been rewarding, to say the least.

My résumé said that I had worked as their nanny. And of
course I
had
taken care of the Stewarts’ three children: waking them up,
feeding them, keeping the little rugrats out of trouble. But to tell the truth,
I spent even more time entertaining their parents. Most nights. The occasional
morning. Once in awhile, an afternoon, if the kids were napping.

To me, they were strictly Mr. and Mrs. Stewart—I had
been specifically warned by the Agency to keep it professional. I could never refer
to them by their first names. They called me Ashlyn, Ash, whatever they wanted.
They were my employers, and they deserved my respect—my utmost respect.
Obedience, even.

And to be honest, I fell in love with them a little bit
when I watched them flirt with each other, crack jokes, argue and make up. Mrs.
Stewart was a slim yet deliciously curvy woman with beautiful lips and a warm
smile. Mr. Stewart may as well have been a dead ringer for Brad Pitt, as far as
I was concerned—he was a tall, athletic man with deep set eyes and broad
shoulders.

I got used to their quirks: Mrs. Stewart’s love of oatmeal
raisin cookies at breakfast, Mr. Stewart’s habit of winding down with a
newspaper at dinnertime. And the way that they looked at each other, as if
they’d never fallen out of that crazy first stage of love: well, I felt lucky
to be with them, if only for a little while.

In fact, it was a playful snowball fight between them that
had started everything. Mr. Stewart had been aiming at his wife but had hit me
instead; I fell over onto the soft snow, laughing, as they scrambled to make
sure I was okay. Mr. Stewart tripped as he was getting to me, landing next to
me in the snow, and he had impulsively kissed me. To my surprise, Mrs. Stewart
merely kissed the tiny bruise that was forming on my forehead, and then lowered
her lips to kiss me herself.

It was magical. The snow falling down around them, their
breath misting in the frosty air: I let myself be kissed, and kissed them both
back. They went back to the cabin, and I let Mr. Stewart take off my jacket
while Mrs. Stewart undid my belt, and lifted my sweater over my head, and the
night got hotter and sweatier than I ever could have imagined for December.

The Agency had been pleased with me, obviously. I received
the message two days after I returned home that the Stewarts wanted me back for
another vacation. They even let me keep the keys! So here I was, back in their
sprawling Aspen cabin, waiting for them, feeling butterflies flutter in my
stomach.

 

* * * *

It was late, maybe eight o’clock, when the doorbell
finally rang.

I had been waiting in the cabin since the afternoon…I’d
long since unpacked and made myself comfortable in my old bedroom. Sitting in
an overstuffed armchair, I was doing my best to read a book to pass the time,
twirling my loose chestnut curls around my finger.

To tell the truth, I had no idea what was happening in that
book. I must have read the same page fifty times. Instead, I ended up staring
at the peaceful, endless falling of snowflakes outside the window. At the sound
of the doorbell, my heart began to hammer in my chest, and I jumped out of the
chair and raced down the hallway towards the stairs.

I was halfway down the stairs when I stopped dead in my
tracks, my hand frozen on the bannister.
Wait. The Stewarts have the keys.
Why the hell would they ring the doorbell?

It had to be someone else.

I walked down slowly now, one step at a time.
I’m
wearing a tank top and pajama shorts,
I realized.
My hair is a mess.
Where are my shoes?
It was t
otally ridiculous to answer the
door like this. Too late now.

I looked through the peephole to see only a glimpse of
bright blonde hair in a French braid.
Who would be here at this hour,
besides the Stewarts?

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the door and opened the
door. Snowflakes swirled in through the doorway on the cold wind.

“Hello?”

A beautiful, petite girl smiled at me, her blue eyes wide
and friendly. I could see her warm breath in the frosty air. “Are you Mrs.
Stewart? Hi, I’m the nanny from the Agency—I’m Shanna.”

“I’m not Mrs. Stewart,” I stammered.

“Oh!” She smiled. “I should’ve figured, you’re way too
young, right? You must be Ashlyn. The other nanny! This is my first time
working, so I hope you can help me out—the Agency said that you worked
with the Stewarts last year?”

Two nannies. They hired two nannies!
I did my best
to hide my surprise, but I knew it must have showed on my face.

“Yes,” I said. “I—I guess you can take any room you
like, upstairs.”

Still feeling shell shocked, I turned away and fled to my
room.

I could hear her walking up the stairs, opening the creaky
door next to mine and shuffling around the room as she unpacked. The cabin was
old and majestic, but the walls were thin. I could hear most of the noises she
made. The Stewarts slept downstairs, as did their kids, but the five rooms
upstairs sat empty—except for me, and now, Shanna.

I flopped down on my quilt. Tried to sort out my feelings.
Confused, definitely. Worried. And the last one...

Jealous
. Oh yeah.

Because I knew what was in store for her. Because I knew
what they were going to do to her.

 

* * * *

It was eleven o’clock and the Stewarts had still not
arrived.

I was in agony.

Shanna must have gone to bed hours ago; she was quiet, and
all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing, and the wind outside. Up
here in the mountains there was hardly any light outside, so everything was as
dark as midnight.

My thick, tousled brown hair was all the messier for
having tossed and turned for the last few hours. I stretched in the bed under
the hot quilt, wishing that there was TV reception up here. But no, the
Stewarts liked to get away from civilization. Back to the woods.
Au naturel.

I sat up in bed, the quilt falling to my waist. I could
see my reflection in the full-length mirror across the room; it was too dark to
see my honey brown eyes, but I could still see the curves of my face,
shoulders, collarbones; the soft swell of my breasts.
Perfect little tits,
Mr.
Stewart had murmured, the very first time he’d stripped me bare.
Two perfect
mouthfuls.

My nipples hardened at the memory. God. I missed him and his
casual, undeniable masculinity. I missed them both. Biting my lip, I slipped
the strap of my tank top down. Gazing at my topless reflection, I ran my
fingertips over my neck, my bare shoulder...I circled a rich brown nipple with
a single fingertip and felt my nerves light on fire.

I remembered that first night with them like it was burned
into my skin.

I was losing my mind.

The two of them got me on my hands and knees on the
messy bed, my nipples grazing the pillow beneath me as I struggled to hold still
for them, like they’d told me to.

As I replayed the memory in my head, I stroked my tummy in
slow circles. I slid my hands even lower, underneath the waistband of my
shorts, past the lace on my panties, to find my soft mound. Biting my lip, I
eased a finger into my slit to find myself already wet.

I moaned, my mouth swollen and open, as Mr. Stewart
gripped my hips with rough, bruising hands and finally pushed his cock into my
sopping wet pussy. I’d been begging for it for the last ten minutes. I groaned deep
in my throat. I was trembling, feeling every inch of his hot, heavy length
forcing its way inside me.

Oh god, I’d waited so long for this, for them. How could
they have brought someone else...someone else to replace me? Had I lost them
for good? The thought made my stomach clench. I ignored it and found my clit,
the sensitive nub aching. I slid two fingers inside my pussy, feeling them
coated with my juices, feeling how good it was to have something inside me. I
brushed my slick thumb over my clit and started a slow, dreamy rhythm.

His breath was coming faster now, but still hot and
constant against my neck as he drove into me, faster and faster. He was
balanced on one hand as the other fondled my clit. Crouched on her knees front
of me, Mrs. Stewart stroked my hair and squeezed my breasts as if she was
trying to milk me. She lowered her lips to mine and kissed me deep, her tongue
sliding in and out of my mouth, mimicking her husband’s thrusts behind me. I
could hear the sound of his skin slapping against mine, loud and wet and
obscene.

“Come for me, Ashlyn,” she whispered, her lips moist
against my cheek. A hot tear or two escaped—it all felt so good. I had
been teased and stroked and fucked to the limit, and they were pushing me over
the edge. She licked the salty tear off my cheek. “Let go, baby girl. Come for
me.”

My orgasm throbbed out from under my fingers, shooting
through my body like rays of lightning. I fell back on the bed, squeezing my
thighs together as I wrung every last drop of pleasure out of the wet slit
between my legs. My moans echoed in the dark room, husky and uncontrollable.

It’s been so long…god, I want them so bad.

As I lay there, feeling my sweat cooling on my skin, I
realized that if Shanna were still awake, she might have heard...jeez, she
might’ve heard everything.

Well. She may as well prepare herself for what was to
come.

 

* * * *

I was dreaming, the incredibly deep and sensation filled
dreaming I always had after coming. I was floating in the ocean, the waves
sweeping over my body, rocking me and comforting me. Everything was peaceful
and quiet, and I was calm at last.

I felt a warm current of water lap over my shoulder and
wash down to my waist.

That felt like—

My eyes flickered open, falling out of the dream quickly,
startled.

“Oh!” I was frozen with surprise.

“Hey there, baby girl,” came the answering whisper in the
darkness.

They were here. They were finally here!

The hand gently stroking my waist was Mrs. Stewart’s. On
the other side of the bed, I could make out Mr. Stewart’s tall, imposing figure
leaning over me. As my eyes adjusted, I met his eyes and saw that he was
smiling.

“And here we thought you’d be waiting for us by the front
door,” he murmured.

“All ready and eager for us,” added Mrs. Stewart.

“Instead,” he said, lowering a knee onto the bed, “we find
you in bed. Asleep.”

His eyes glinted. “With your hand between your legs.”

I gasped. He was right; I’d fallen asleep on my side, my
hand squeezed tight between my damp inner thighs. I still had my top on, but
I’d completely kicked the quilt off of me while I was asleep. I was glad for
the darkness

I could feel my cheeks burning up. I tried to sit up,
but Mrs. Stewart pushed me back down onto the sheets with a hand on my
shoulder. 


“Naughty baby girl,” she whispered. “Couldn’t wait, not
even a couple of hours.”

I couldn’t open my mouth to say a word, I was so
embarrassed…still, their words made my tired nerves tingle.

Mr. Stewart ran a coarse thumb over my soft lips. “Too
late now,” he said. “That’s your punishment for being impatient, Ash.”

They smiled at each other as if they were sharing in some
mysterious secret.

“Go to sleep, it’s way past your bedtime,” Mrs. Stewart
said to me, like she was scolding a little girl. They left the room and tiptoed
downstairs.

Of course, there was no way I could sleep now.

 

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