Kennedy checked her phone for the time -- it was 11:37, meaning Mr. Powell was very late. She looked out the window and was surprised how much snow had accumulated in such a short time. There was no doubt in her mind that the roads were going to be dangerous and she hoped that Mr. Powell would make it home safely.
Kennedy had babysat for the Powells for a few years. Mrs. Powell traveled extensively for her career and Mr. Powell would often call over Kennedy to help him with their two children. It was good money for a seventeen-year-old and she liked spending time with the kids. Plus, Mr. Powell worked with her dad, so it was a natural arrangement that worked well.
Finally, she saw Mr. Powell’s BMW pull up. After a minute, he emerged from the garage.
“Kennedy! I am so sorry I am late. Of course, I will pay you for your time. But, I’m afraid the roads are deadly. I called your dad from the road and he urged me to put you up for the night. Is that alright? I can make up the guest room.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s fine. No worries, Mr. Powell. The kids have been asleep for hours. I am just happy everyone is home safe for the night. I saw on the news that this storm is causing havoc all across the state.”
Mr. Powell gave Kennedy a lopsided smile and said, “Alright, well, I am going to change out of this suit and I’ll grab some things for you. Make yourself at home.”
Kennedy quickly wished to herself that Mr. Powell would just stay put in that suit since he looked so fine in its tailored and expensive cloth. He was in his late 30s and was fitter than most of the dads she knew, which meant he came into her fantasies quite frequently. He was tall and had a very dark complexion. She always noticed that he had big, strong hands and sometimes she found herself staring at his kissable lips.
After a few minutes, Mr. Powell came back wearing a dark t-shirt and pajama bottoms and he handed her nearly the same outfit. Kennedy thought it was bizarre that he didn’t give her anything from his wife’s closet -- but she didn’t mind. She was rather grateful that the kids were asleep and that she was finally getting some alone time with her hunky employer.
“Just need to grab my bag and then I can change out of these clothes. Perhaps we can watch a movie or something?”
“Sure, here, let me.” Mr. Powell swiped her purse from the counter and attempted to hand it to Kennedy. Unfortunately for her, one of the side pockets was open, causing a clear-water bottle full of brownish liquid to crash to the floor. Mr. Powell snatched it right up, opened the cap, and smelled.
“Kennedy! Is this alcohol? Have you been drinking here? Did you take it from my bar? What. The. Fuck.” He growled.
Kennedy blushed and felt herself getting sweaty. She couldn’t believe she just got caught and that she’d likely lose this great gig due to her stupidity.
“You’re right. It is some of your tequila! But, but, I wasn’t going to drink it here... I swear.” Kennedy said with panic and desperation in her voice. “I just took some so I could drink with my girlfriends this weekend. I am so sorry”, she nearly sobbed. “Please, don’t tell my dad.”
“Kennedy. This is unacceptable. You need to be punished.”
“Yes, sir, anything.”
Mr. Powell smiled at his luck. Really, he couldn’t have planned this better himself. For ages, he had been itching to get this sexy little tart under his thumb. Now, here she was, desperate for his forgiveness. And she used the word ‘anything’. He knew he had to walk the line since she was young and basically his bosses’ daughter...but, he thought to himself, a little fun can’t hurt.
“I’m very disappointed in you.” He replied sternly, walking over to a kitchen chair and sitting down after he pulled it into the middle of the kitchen. “Come here and lay across my lap, I am going to spank you 6 times.”
Kennedy’s eyes went wide and she looked back at Mr. Powell in shock. Was he really proposing such a punishment? She hadn’t been spanked since she was a young child, but for some reason, she felt a rush of excitement flood into her panties. She timidly approached him and laid across his lap, putting her hands on the floor in front of her and her ass high up in the air.
Mr. Powell took in the view in front of him and slowly traced his hand up from the back of her knees, over her thighs, and across her juicy bum so he could flip up her skirt.
Smack. Smack. Smack.
His hand connected with her plump bottom, firmly.
Smack. Smack. Kennedy let out a moan.
Smack.
He started to rub her bottom, kneading it with his strong hands to help take some of the sting out of her flesh. Kennedy felt an erection forming under her. She held her breath as one of his fingers sneakily touched the fabric in between her legs. Mr. Powell found to his pleasure that she was soaking wet.
“Okay, Kennedy. You’re absolved of your crimes. But I don’t want to have to do this again." He lied.
Kennedy pushed her skirt back down over her ass and pulled herself off of him. Blushing, she hastily grabbed all of her things and rushed to the bathroom to change.
Eventually, she emerged from the bathroom wearing only the oversized t-shirt Mr. Powell had given her, disregarding the pajama bottoms entirely. Mr. Powell was sitting on the couch, remote in hand, searching for a movie. He barely looked up as she came into the room, but she noticed that he had a slight smile on his face at the sight of her.
Kennedy had long legs that were toned and dark like chocolate. Her ass was the perfect kind of fat, but it was nearly completely covered by the t-shirt. Her arms were also firm and she hadn’t fully grown into her chest yet. Kennedy’s hair was done in tight braids that cascaded down her back.
She sat down on the couch next to her employer, waiting for him to take notice of her. Instead, he put on a movie called Basic Instinct, which she had never seen before.
Quietly, they watched the movie together. It was obviously a steamy piece -- Kennedy was glad he picked it.
Mr. Powell, on the other hand, was not. He was having a hard time keeping his raging boner in check, which is hard to do when you have an 8in black thick monster in your pajama bottoms. Kennedy smelled so musky and good next to him and she looked flush with excitement. It was taking all of his willpower not to just grab her and pummel her with his cock. He thought back to his hand smacking her fat ass -- how it jiggled deliciously each time he raised his hand to whack it. God, he wanted so badly to touch her again, but he was worried about the consequences. Still, she was moving closer to him every chance she got. Eventually, his arm was on the back of the couch and Kennedy was in the nook of his arm, her head on his chest as she watched the movie.
He moved his hand from behind the couch and started to explore her legs. Slowly, he traced his fingers up the smooth skin. He tickled her knee. He glided along her thighs. Caressed her hip bone. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved to her mound. She was still wearing her panties, allowing him to safely tease her there. She took in a deep breath and didn’t move. He continued to tickle her there -- drawing tiny circles over the fabric, stimulating the vulva moistening underneath. He teased her by barely putting a finger under the hem and then retreating. For twenty minutes he aroused her this way, never actually touching private flesh. Kennedy was soaking wet and gyrating her body to match his movements.
Never, ever, had she been this horny. God, he was going to make her explode! His fingers moved unhurriedly over her clit and vulva. Every time he drew a finger under the hem she hoped that he would finally plunge into her, but he never did. She moved to touch him, wanting to feel his cock between her hands. But he stopped her, holding her hand in place. This was his game, not hers.
Suddenly, the movie was over. Kennedy’s head was a blur -- she was on the edge of orgasm for most of the film, yet no release ever came. She wanted Mr. Powell to take her right there on the couch. She thought she was making it obvious throughout their entire petting session that she wanted him, needed him. Instead, Mr. Powell got up and told Kennedy he was going to bed, suggesting she do the same. He walked up the stairs and retreated to the bedroom, closing the door.
Fuck, she thought. What did I do wrong? She sat there for five minutes, contemplating what to do. Finally, she decided that she didn’t want to fuck her hand that night, she wanted to fuck Mr. Powell...and she wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
She marched up to his bedroom and threw open the door. Mr. Powell was lying on his bed, cock in his hand and spread eagle. He was vigorously stroking his cock.
