Caregiver

“Is she asleep?” I asked Dayoung discreetly, even though I already knew the answer.

“Yes, sir. The madam has taken her prescription and she is all rested.” Dayoung replied, her professionalism, always a regular around the household, except for one little thing.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” I uttered back, lowering my voice a little further, in which the girl quickly got the message.

“I mean, Yes… Daddy…” She replied.

It didn’t take long for our lips to meet once more. The touch and the feel of her was something I never thought I needed once more.

A month of “accidental touches” and “casual bumps” had led me to this. I never thought I needed a young competent and obedient girl like her to make me feel alive once more.

My wife and I were barely in our sixties when a stroke suddenly crippled her body. Her mind followed soon after, Alzheimer’s.

I’d rather not talk about how many times she had woken up thinking she was in bed with someone else. It hurt. It hurts so much! I thought about sending her to day care but our kids fucking refused. I mean, who the hell were they to tell me what to do when it’s not even them having to change their mother’s diapers or feed her in bed?

And that’s where Im Dayoung came in. She was a caregiver and registered nurse assigned to my wife back in the hospital. And from the very moment we laid eyes, I could tell she was trouble.

Her skirt was always too high and her blouse too low. There hasn’t been a day since last month that my eyes met her thick thighs or her tits bulged out of her blouse. Her buttons looked like they were fighting for dear life, a flash of her bra, black, pink, purple, red, you name it, I saw them all, I always did.

And what else were an able-bodied man and a sexy young and able-bodied woman were supposed to do when they were stuck in a room with a bed-ridden patient that slept most of the time because of her antibiotics?

Like I said, a few touches here and there led us to this. I didn’t just want her; I needed the feeling of someone who wasn’t breaking apart.

Right now, she was basically a resident of my household. My wife was too dumb or too deluded to even remember who she was or what her name was. The days went by and so did Dayoung’s clothes. Gone were the caregiver uniforms and nurse’s scrubs.

Tonight, she was wearing a tight purple shirt, if you could even call it that, and these really small and tight shorts that just hugged her thighs and flaunted her ass-crack. One could argue that by next week, she might as well look after my wife naked.

I didn’t waste time. I held the girl up her ass and hoisted her up against the wall. She felt like a warm, soft weight of sin against my chest. My hands didn’t hesitate; they slid right under that shirt, finding the soft layer of her lacy black bra that has been teasing me all day!

“Oooh… Easy, Mr. Richards…” She cooed.

“You’re going to sprain your wrists again…” She added, her concern and professionalism still present even in times of sin.

“You’re worth the pain…” I muttered back.

I took her out of the wall to take us to my couch, my arms and lips never leaving hers as I slammed my ass down, my thighs cracking when her bum landed flush.

“Are you alright?” She inquired.

I tried to play it cool, but the wince that came out of my lips told me that the cramp was significant. I thought, God! Not this too! It was one of those moments where I felt my age come to me. I’d have this girl all day anytime if I wasn’t diagnosed with arthritis. The doctors may have said they were mild, but in times like these, when a girl like Im Dayoung was sitting on my lap, the pain felt like an insult to my well-being.

“Here… Let me do something else instead…” She purred.

Before I could even ask, the girl was already down between my legs, her knees resting on my carpet as she pulled down my pants. I wasn’t hard quite yet, but Dayoung’s hands rested on the sprained area and it didn’t take long for her fingers to do their magic!

“Ohhh yeah…”

The massage was purely clinical at first, her thumbs digging into the tension of my thighs with a practiced precision that made me groan. But the second she shifted her grip, the professionalism was long gone. Her small, warm hands slid up and down to cup me. She didn’t just touch; she squeezed, her eyes looking up at me with that familiar look that told me she knew exactly was doing.

The girl leaned in, the maw of her mouth, young, warm and wet as she took me in with a slow suction. Dayoung didn’t rush; she never did. I let out a ragged breath, my fingers instinctively digging into her scalp, pulling her closer as she began a rhythmic, sliding motion.

Every second was like an eternity. I’m taken back 30 years, the last time I felt my wife’s jaw tighten around my dick. She always struggled taking my cock, but this girl, Im Dayoung, was blowing me like her mouth was meant for it! Every time she did this, I always asked, was I always this big? Or is her mouth just that small?

My tip always reached the back of her throat. Every angle and every position that we’ve done it always dragged my cock’s peak deep right next to her larynx.

She didn’t need my hands nor my commands to take me further. She just bobs her head up and down rapidly, even encouraging me to grab fistfuls of her hair as she takes me deeper or makes me thrust my hips in and out of her mouth. The girl just took it, her eyes watering and her throat making these guttural, wet sounds of submission that drove me wild. It was like this that I wasn’t being gentle. Her mouth was like a toy, slamming into my crotch with a desperate, starving energy, feeling the tight ring of her throat clench around me every time I bottomed out.

I pushed deep inside her mouth one more time before abruptly pulling out, her breath coming out of her lips so loud you’d think a distraught animal just entered the room. The girl didn’t waste time. Dayoung stood up and stripped in front of me, tugging shorts and thong down in one go, and tossed that blasted purple shirt out of her chest, leaving her in a discarded lacy black bra that wasn’t properly clinging on to her chest, her dark nipples poking out of the cups’ edge.

She didn’t think twice and sunk down, her eyes not leaving mine as I felt her inner walls fold around me.

“G-God…”

For a 27 year old girl, she was at the prime of her lifetime. I was just as adventurous and playful as this girl was when I was her age. Her tightness was something that I never thought I would be lucky enough to experience again, a crushing pressure that felt like it was trying to wring every drop of life out of me.

My hips barely moved; they didn’t have to. Im Dayoung was like sex incarnate! Every angle and every slight change of position was like a preemptive and precise attack on my pleasure. She arched her back, her chest heaving as those dark nipples grazed my skin, and she began to ride me with a frantic, desperate speed.

Her hips moved gracefully like that of a Latina dancer. I’m thinking of Shakira or that one the younger generation called, Tyla. She had that song that said to make her sway like water. That’s exactly how Im Dayoung was moving right now…

There was no way my wife could move like this even if you took us back! Dayoung was like a wave moving smoothly into my groin like her body was designed solely to house my nuts. She threw her head back, her throat arching into a long, pale line of submission, her long blonde hair whipping across my chest like a lash.

And when her arms rested on my shoulders, she started bouncing, constantly plowing and impaling herself back and forth against my cock like she was trying to reach my soul. I felt her internal walls clench and ripple around me, a tight, wet vacuum that sucked me deeper with every slam. I could hear the wet, slapping sound of her pelvic bone hitting mine, a rhythmic thud that echoed through the silent living room while my wife lay oblivious and brain-dead just on the other side of that door! The risk of it all—the sheer, filthy audacity of this—only made the friction feel hotter, more electric.

“Are you feeling better Mr. Richards? Are you almost there?” She inquired in the midst of her bouncing.

“Y-Yes, Dayoung… I feel so much better… A-Almost there…” I grunted.

And this was where we would get out of control. This was the moment where the haze and the fog of lust consumed us. Our bodies were now moving on their own, our eyes shut or half shut as our movements become erratic and inconsistent.

All I could think about was the grip of my hands on her waist, guiding her in whatever form and rhythm she was now in.

All I could feel was the warmth and the tightness of her young warm clit closing in on me, ready to spritz as she pushed herself down to the hilt. I shifted my grip, digging my fingers into the soft meat of her thighs to lock her in place, and then I bucked upward with every bit of strength my aging frame could muster. Dayoung bit her own hand to stifle her moans, her inner muscles pulsing in a series of rhythmic, violent contractions that clamped around my shaft like a vice.

It was only a matter of time now. Every second and every thrust was bringing us closer and closer to edge until…

“I’m cumming… M-Mr. Richards… D-Daddy… I-I… Ahhhhh…”

And that was when I felt it. A large volume of liquid came spewing out of our thighs, right were our bodies interlocked. Her body vibrated in jolts of electricity, her pussy walls clamping down on me so hard I thought she might actually snap my cock.

The sigh that left my lips was something I never recognized. I never did. The sound always changed, yet the reason was always the same. I came. I came inside Im Dayoung. I always did.

I might’ve spewed out my jizz elsewhere, but her womb was always the jackpot. I often asked her if she was worried, but the girl never complained. A box of birth control pills was always there by the medkit. There hasn’t been a day since last month where my cock rested in her clit and my sperm flooded her womb. That would’ve given me a third child if she wasn’t protected.

“Are you satisfied now, sir? Do you feel relieved?” She asked, though her voice still had that purr of sin lingering in her tone in which I couldn’t help but nod.

“Yes, Dayoung… You did a wonderful job…” I replied.

And it only took a split second for her to go from needy little brat to registered nurse once more.