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The breeze ruffles my hair as I cruise down the streets of this nice suburb in New Jersey. It’s beautiful here, and it’s sad that I haven’t seen more of it. Newton and I moved in a while ago, but I’ve been so busy running my restaurant that I’ve barely spent any time at the estate. It’s more like a hotel or a crash pad. The manor is just a place to sleep at night, and then I leave first thing in the morning.
I feel bad for my dog though because my buddy Newton needs some attention. He’s a good boy, but he’s got ADD. Trust me, I didn’t know such a thing existed for dogs, but after the vet diagnosed him, it all made sense. Newton’s always been easily distracted by something or other, and at first I thought it was because he’s a dog. But I guess veterinary science is incredibly advanced these days, and there is such a thing as doggy ADD.
But my assistant’s found him a good dog walker, whom she assures me is great and well qualified. Still, Newton’s alone more often than not and I hate that. So today, I’m playing hooky by going home for lunch and then Newton and I are going to catch up. We’ll play ball, eat snacks, and maybe jump in that huge, Olympic sized pool together. I mean, what good is a big pool if you never enjoy it?
Pulling up in front of my house I take a minute to appreciate the manor. It’s a far cry from the overpriced apartment I bought in the city because everything in the city is small and fucking expensive. In New Jersey however, you spend the same money and buy a house big enough for a dozen people. Plus, the estate grounds are worthy of a magazine. Of course, I haven’t seen the whole thing yet, but my broker assured me it’s breath-taking.
I pull my car into the driveway and then get out. It’s a gorgeous, sunny day with just a bit of a breeze and I slam the vehicle door before whistling for Newton.
“Hey boy,” I call. “I’m home.”
However, only silence greets me. After a minute I whistle again, but my dog still doesn’t come. It’s strange because Newton’s the affectionate type. Sure, he’s big, slobbery and clueless, but most days, he hears my car pull in and meets me before I get the door open.
Puzzled, I grab my bag and stroll towards the front door. That’s when I hear it. There are muffled banging sounds coming from the back of the house and my forehead wrinkles in confusion. Maybe Newton got his collar stuck in the doggy door and can’t get free? Or actually, the gardener was supposed to come today. Maybe he accidentally locked himself in the garage out back.
But when I round the corner, I see what’s happened and it’s the strangest sight because protruding from my back door is a big, gorgeous, milky white ass. It’s round, firm, delicious, and just there for the taking.
“Fuck me,” I mutter to myself, feeling my body harden. “Who is this?”
The bottom wiggles as I draw close, and I admire the way those big ass cheeks bounce. My intruder, whose face I can’t see, is jammed into my doggy door while wearing a short skirt. She looks stuck tight, and even better, her skirt’s flipped up around her hips so that only thing separating me from that pretty pussy is her vibrant red g-string. In fact, the lingerie is practically non-existent. Her pink folds are completely visible, the red fabric bisecting the juicy flesh, and even the tan pleats of her asshole are visible beneath the thin crimson string.
My cock jumps in my pants and I groan, trying to get control of myself. I have no clue who this woman is, but she’s clearly stuck tight and needs help more than she needs some man just walking up and fucking her like she’s here for the ride.
Coming up onto the porch, I try to act normal.
“Hey. Are you alright?”
The big white ass wiggles with relief.
“Yes! Oh, thank god,” comes a muffled female voice from inside. “Can you help me? I’m just the dog walker and I got stuck in the door trying to chase after that damned dog. Now I can’t get myself out.”
The situation is too ridiculous and I start chuckling.
“Sorry,” I apologize. “Seriously. I don’t mean to laugh at you.”
The big white butt wriggles again.
“It’s fine because this is a silly ass situation,” she says with exasperation from the other side of the door. “But can you please help me get out? I don’t want the owner to find me like this!”
I bite back another chuckle because clearly, my pretty dog sitter doesn’t realize that I am the owner of this house. I’ve never been back before 10 p.m., so there’s no reason she’d think it’s me. She probably thinks I’m the gardener, or maybe a member of my staff coming by on an errand.
