Chapter Text
The orange and pink sky shone brightly in through the windows of the taxicab. You were thankful for the view of the sunset, thankful for the quiet nature of the English countryside, and thankful for the job.
It was all a risk. You were young, you’d just moved from the States, flying out once you secured the job. You would be a live-in housekeeper for a man you’d only met a few times before. Paul McCartney. He was a friend of a friend, in need of someone to help him keep his home together between his busy schedule. You needed a place to start fresh. So you agreed.
The pay was decent, boarding included, and he seemed pleasant when you met him. Your friend said he was a poet and songwriter. Everything he did had an edge of humor and theatrics. His accent and manner of speaking wasn’t harsh or jarring, but pleasing to the ear. He also seemed to be a flirt, his charm natural and intoxicating, his eyes dark and lingering on your frame. You could tell he was… experienced in the realm of women. Despite his age, he was good-looking, and he managed not to come off predatory despite his obvious flirting.
You remember thinking that his eyes were so captivating. They were big and deep and sweet, youthful despite the slight wrinkles. They seemed to lock you in, force you to hold contact and be a spectacle for him to devour. You could feel him undressing you in his mind. It was intrusive, but it sort of made you blush.
He had the same sort of look in his eyes when he opened the door to greet you. Deep, devouring, lingering. It made your heart pump, scared & excited.
“Hello,” his voice was soft and lilted, lips slowly curling into smile, his gaze unshifting. “Come in, come in! Let me help you with your things.” He spoke quickly, his accent naturally slurred. He grabbed your suitcases from you and stepped aside to allow you in. You followed him past the living room & kitchen to the short hall. The house was quiet, quaint. It would be easy to get comfortable and maintain. This would be home now.
“This will be your room,” He guided you to the first room on the left side of the hall and set your suitcases on the bed.
“Feel free to take a look around, make yourself comfortable! There’s a full bathroom here,” He opened a door attached to the room and resumed his rambling, “I’m just across the hall, but I spend a good bit of time in my office at the end of the hall. We passed the kitchen on the way in, the laundry is attached there.” He talked a lot with his hands, gesturing to punctuate and emphasize his words. “Let me know if you’d like a proper tour once you get settled, or if you need me to go out and purchase anything to make you more comfortable. And of course, let me know if you need my help with anything.” He smiled. Again, with that dark look in his eye.
He talked so quickly and so much at once, you needed to take a deep breath after just listening. It was a little overwhelming. The only thing you could say was “Thank you.”
“Thank you. Really, anything.” He waited, just staring and smiling, as though he expected something from you, or expected you to ask something of him. Did he remember that he had hired you to work for him, not the other way around? The silence as he waited was short, but awkward.
“Well! I’ll leave you to get settled in then.”
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You had been working for Mr. McCartney for almost a week. You felt it would be best to address him by his last name, keep things professional. A boundary. He didn’t correct you. He cleaned up well after himself, and spent a lot of time working in his office. The business that supposedly kept him from maintaining his home, also kept him from making a mess of it. You couldn’t complain about an easy job, but you also couldn’t understand what he needed a housekeeper for.
There was next to nothing for you to do, and many of the tasks you did try to do, he would take off your hands. He was so odd. Suspicious, even. Yesterday, when you were on your way to handle the laundry, he refused to let you by.
“This is my job you know,” you reminded him.
“No, no, no. You work much too hard! I insist,” he took each of your clothing hampers from your hands and shooed you away. He saw you hesitating. “Go on, really!” So you did.
The one task he did let you keep up with often was going to the local farmer’s market. You’d gone nearly every day since you arrived. He preferred to have food fresh, and you did too, so you didn’t mind going so often. Originally it took you a while to navigate, and not get caught up with knick knacks and non-essentials, but by now you’d seen everything and learned your way around. Today your list was short, you were in and out much quicker than usual. You were proud of yourself, already getting used to a brand new country.
As usual, the house was quiet when you made it back. You set the groceries on the kitchen counter and made your way to your room to get comfortable before you started dinner.
You heard Mr. McCartney call your name from his office down the hall. It was a little alarming; strained and breathy, like he was hurt. You hoped the man didn’t have a heart attack or something. You hurried your way down the hall to his office. Now closer you could better hear light groaning and gasping. The door was cracked, you pushed your way in.
You gasped loudly and let out a small shriek at the sight.
Mr. McCartney sat in his large leather office chair, his large hand pumping his slick, erect cock, his head thrown back, mouth contorted in pleasure, barely able to contain his moans.
He was holding the crotch of a pair of lavender panties against his nose and face. You recognized them.
Your panties. On his face.
When he heard you his face paled, and he snatched the panties behind his back. His opposite hand left his prick and came up in defense. He started to try to explain-
You couldn’t stop yourself. You exclaimed in disgust, charged toward him, slapping and pounding on his chest and shoulders.
“Ugh! You dirty old man! You dirty, filthy, horny, old man! Uggh!”
It was hard. It was all so gross, so confusing. The hand he was using to try to hold you away was brushing your sensitive nipple over your dress. You had one knee on the chair beside him, partially straddling him. You could feel his cock brushing and knocking into your thighs as the two of you fumbled. It was hard.
“What is wrong with you?!”
“Please, hold on, hold on!” His voice fluctuated and cracked, his hand now gripping your arm to hold you back. You squeezed your hand behind his back, grasping the panties in your hand and attempting to tug them away from him, but he wouldn’t loosen his grip. You pulled and hit and grumbled, until you were falling.
And suddenly you were on your back, hands above your head. The chair had tipped backward, and Mr. McCartney had flipped you and held you down before you could react. You struggled against his hand, but he had you tight. You tried to kick and lift your hips, but he had pinned your thighs with his knees. You were stuck, unable to move, Mr. McCartney heaving above you with his erection still strong and exposed.
With a second of forced calm and your legs spread, you could feel the slickness in the panties you currently wore. Between your anger and disgust, you were turned on. Seeing him pleasuring himself to your scent, feeling his hands on you, seeing him on top of you now, throbbing right above your own throbbing… you were worked up. Your squirming quickly stopped being because of you trying to get out of his hands, and instead you were squirming to try to get some sort of relief between your legs.
He’d confused you. He charmed you. He got you! That sly slut. You wanted him! You weren’t sure what came over you so quickly but all you wanted was to feel him grip you and fuck you and fill you.
Maybe it wasn’t so confusing. You did… like him. He was sweet, he was funny, he was cheery. Until then he hadn’t made you uncomfortable, quite the opposite, he was comforting. He was good looking. More than that, if you were being honest, he was gorgeous. Those lips, so perfectly plump and swollen, you wanted to know what they felt like. And those eyes… they were so intense but so light too. His wrinkles suited him. He really was handsome. But you were working for him. He was probably… nearly 40? Had he done this before? Had he played you? You weren’t sure if you really cared at this point.
He started to apologize and tried to explain again-
“Please, Mr. McCartney,” you whimpered. He seemed confused. You hadn’t been listening to him. Why was he prolonging this? He already had you, why wouldn’t he fuck you already?
He thought you may have been calling out in pain at his weight and grip on you. He let go and kneeled on the ground between your legs. You sat up on your elbows, bent your knees up so he could better see the wet spot between your legs. You saw his eyes dart down, his breath hitched and he looked back up at you just as quickly. He licked his lips. Fuck, those lips.
“Listen to me, I’m serious, I”- God, that accent. But you still weren’t hearing him. You bent onto your hands and knees and then lowered yourself on your elbows in between his knees, your hands coming up to his thighs over his pants, slowly nearing his cock. You weren’t sure if he was still talking, all you were concerned with was tasting him.
You felt his hand come up to your cheek and caress you, then pushed his hand around your neck and into your hair around the base of your head. You were both wide eyed and throbbing. You licked your lips as you stared at his cock in front of you. Finally, you had got him too! And he was going to let you taste him.
He gripped your hair lightly to get your attention. Your chin lifted but your eyes stayed glued on his cock. “Are you listening?” You ignored him.
Just as you gave a lick across the underside of his bright pink, swollen, salty tip, he yanked your head up and pinned you on your back with again, this time draped directly over you. You could feel his breath on your neck. You hummed and arched up into him. His cock brushed against your clothed heat, it made you clench. He exhaled harshly. “You really want it, then, huh? Y’sure?” You nodded. You did want it. You’d had enough of the back and forth. You were sure your panties were soaked by now. You needed some kind of relief. Could you make it any clearer?
“Please,” you whispered.
“Say it. Say ‘Please taste me, Mr. McCartney.’”
You choked out a whine. He must have been getting off on the power play, fucking his young housekeeper. And you had given into him so quickly. But you didn’t care, you wanted him. And he wanted you.
Maybe you did have the power. You had caught him desperate for you. And now you would finally convince him to take you. All you had to do was say a few little words. You didn’t mind giving into his fantasy if it served you as well. Who cared if he was your boss? You were starting to like the power play as well, finally demanding something of you, after practically being your housekeeper all week. The taste of him still on your tongue and his weight above you was driving you crazy. You were ready for him, and begging was not above you at the moment.
“Please taste me, Mr. McCartney.”
That must have done him in. He gripped your hair once again and crashed his lips against yours, kissing you passionately and urgently. They were soft and plump, like you expected. Your hands came up and into his hair, long and fluffy. Everything felt even better than it looked. He was a great kisser, his mouth moved gently yet forcefully, contrasting his hold on you. It made you feel like you were floating, it was so tender. You didn’t think just a kiss could rile you up so much more.
His other hand had the crook of your thigh in a white-knuckled grip, holding you against him. You could feel his dick against your inner thigh, his hips rutting and grinding into you, chasing the pleasure. The skin of his cock was tight, he was rock solid, almost sharp against you. You didn’t know a dick could be so hard. It made you ache with emptiness, you were so ready to feel him inside you.
He left wet teasing kisses down your neck and cleavage, his hands pushing your dress up further as he dipped his head down between your legs.
Your chest was heaving, your heart was pounding. He spread his palms over your thighs and lightly brushed his fingers over your clothed pussy. You shuddered and squeezed your thighs around his head to encourage him closer. You could feel his breath on you. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you in. You were so desperate, why the hell was he taking so long?
You heard him groan deeply and felt a pressure against your slit over your panties. You gasped. It wasn’t like a finger… You felt the tip of it brush against your clit, sending shockwaves through you. He pressed you against his face and took a deep inhale. His nose. You whined and squeezed your thighs around him.
He did this a few more times, dragging his nose up your slit and around your clit, spreading the wetness underneath, breathing you in deeply, sending chills up your spine at the cold sensation.
“Seems like I’m not the only dirty one here after all. You’re very wet down here, aren’t you?” His voice was much deeper, but still soft. He seemed just as entranced with your heat as you had been with his just a minute before.
He pressed two fingers against the wet spot to spread your lips. His fingers had become slightly wet at the tips, your arousal soaking through as he touched you there, making it easier for his fingers to glide against you. It was like torture, your whole body all heated up, desperate for real stimulation to relieve you like a cool wave. He licked you off the tips of his fingers and moaned deeply at the taste.
He pulled your panties down over your thighs and off your ankles so carefully, like he was unwrapping a fragile gift that might shatter if you just brushed it slightly wrong. He pressed his nose against your hairy mound, breathing you in one last time before you felt his thick tongue give you a long, flat lick up your slit and finally you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you.
You gasped and reached for his hair, pressing your hips into his tongue. He licked you again and again, slowly, zig-zagging and wagging his flat tongue on you and between your lips until you were sloppy with his spit and your arousal. He spread you open with his fingers and fully exposed your clit, slowly licking up to it and flicking the sensitive bud back and forth with the end of his tongue, swirling circles on it, lighting you on fire, making your whole body quiver.
Gasps and whines fell from your mouth, your hands pulled at his hair, your heels dug into the carpet. You were unable to control yourself or your actions, or even recognize anything other than the feeling of his tongue. Each flick electrified you, making you twitch and clench in pleasure. When he felt you were perfectly lost in it, he made his way back down to your slit and lapped you up.
You bucked and grinded down on his tongue to try to get him back on your clit, but his hold on your hips limited your movement. He licked and traced you with a pointed tongue, around your slit, over your clitoral hood, between your outer and inner labia, back down to your opening. The lack of attention made your clit throb, practically reaching for his tongue. He moaned as he slipped his tongue inside you, wiping and tasting your walls, thrusting it in and out. You whined and shuddered, orgasm building quickly.
He fucked his tongue into you, licked and sucked on your labia, turned you into a wet slippery mess. He seemed to really enjoy it, his mouth persistent and unyielding. Much like when he was talking. Now it made sense why the constant movement of his mouth had been slightly endearing.
Your mind blanked as your orgasm drew close, you felt your heartbeat all over your whole body, tingling in your extremities. Mr. McCartney started giving you long licks up your slit again between his thrusting and tracing and sucking, every so often giving you a single, slow swirl around your clit and earning a high-pitched whine from you each time. Each swirl inched you closer and closer to cumming.
He was working you so good, it was all becoming too much. He could tell how close you were, right there, needing just the right bit of pressure to send you over. You were so ready to burst.
He draped his right arm over your hips to hold you down. With a finger from his other hand he circled your clit, barely enough pressure to feel but enough stimulation on the slick sensitive spot to hold you right at the brink while he pulled his mouth away.
“Want me to make you cum, pretty girl?” He asked. He was out of breath after eating you so vigorously. You could feel his eyes on you now, you were almost afraid to look, you wouldn’t be able to handle the sight of him. Just his voice made your walls clench. You just nodded, unable to form the words, gripping his arm. He chuckled lowly and slowed his finger on you.
“Say it.” His tone was light and teasing, like he was daring you.
Tears pricked at your eyes, you didn’t wanna play his game anymore, you just wanted to cum. You tried to buck your hips again but his other arm was tight enough to hold you still.
“Please,” you mewled.
“Please what, kitten?” You could hear the amusement in his voice. He dipped his finger down just inside you to lubricate it and came back up to your clit, still light but faster again.
“Please- please, Mr. McCartney.” You choked out. Your fingernails dug into his arm, your breathing was labored and loud. “Please make me cum.”
His tongue was back on you immediately, your hips instinctually trying to jump away at the sudden overwhelming pleasure but to no avail against his grasp. He must have moved back down without you noticing. He gave you short wet licks to get you used to the sensation and then closed his lips around your clit, sucking it into his mouth, flicking it inside at the same time.
You whined and kicked your feet, toes clenching, knees locking. You tried to push his head away despite how badly you wanted him there, the pleasure was too intense, but of course he held you against his tongue and made you take it. You were quivering and jumping, he was moaning, sending vibrations through your clit, getting off on your taste and sounds.
With a final few flicks your orgasm ripped through you and you cried out, back arching, body white hot and nearly convulsing, your stomach and holes clenching and contracting. He was quick to mop you up, vulgar slurping noises filling the room with your moans as he rode you through it.
He kissed over you for just a second as you started to come down, soothing you a bit, but quickly straightened up. You looked up at him to see him rapidly stroking his dripping cock. He had so much precum there, for a second you thought he might have cum already. It made your mouth water. His movements were mesmerizing, precum making him slick, allowing him to pump his fist fast.
He came quickly, not long after you, moaning and gasping, cum shooting onto your stomach and spilling over his fingers. He came a lot, four or five thick, warm streams, dick twitching and jumping as he milked himself. His sounds were beautiful, airy and smooth and high pitched, almost musical. He thrust against his hand until he was spent, mouth hung open with the occasional huff, hair a sweaty mess, chest heaving as he gained his composure. He was a magnificent sight. So beautiful.
You definitely didn’t expect to be so enamored with him, but he looked so pretty above you, and he’d just made you cum hard. You brushed a hand over his soft, hairy forearm, gaining his attention. Now you could see his eyes, clear of lust, bright, sweet and deep. Just having his eyes on you filled you with a warm glow. He seemed so precious, you wanted to cup his cheeks and hold him close and let him ramble on until he was satisfied, brushing his hair and rubbing his chest. You had no idea what came over you.
“Ah! Let me help you,” He reached in the direction of the chair and grabbed a hand towel to wipe your stomach clean. You watched him carefully, admiring his hands, his hips, his face. You saw the lavender fabric on the ground near the chair when he grabbed the towel. That’s right… you’d nearly forgotten how you’d found him and what he was doing in the first place. Suddenly you were embarrassed. You caught him violating you, and that turned you on enough that you let him cum all over you? He was right, he wasn’t the only dirty one in the room.
He had moved onto wiping himself by the time your train of thought concluded. You cleared your throat and sat up, face hot, now out of shame.
“I… I have to go,” you told him, brushing your dress over your exposed lower half and stumbling out towards your room before he could react.