Damsel in DistressDamsel in Distress


Towel, check. Sunscreen, check. My fine ass, double check.


I pull my hopelessly straight hair that really needs a cut into a ponytail, and just pretend like Ariana Grande wishes she looked like me. I preen in front of the mirror a little. Adjust the ladies so they sit better in my bikini top. Better, good. I grab my jean cutoff shorts that make my ass delectable and tie my vintage Alice Cooper tee under my tits, and I check myself out in the mirror again.


I turn to the side. I clench my butt. I suck in my belly. I push my butt out. I push my chest out. I fake a laugh. I laugh for real. I do the hokey pokey and I turn myself around and decide that this is as good as it’s going to get.

Beach time, baby.

I check my bank account. I could take out money for tolls and gas and have a beach day and it’d be okay, but I should really pick up some extra.

Boo, I really didn’t want to have to work today. But I’m also anti-late fees sooooo…

I check my app to see if there are any local deliveries I could do. I have time for a few before I leave for the beach, and that should help the cash flow issue. I really can’t afford to be fuckin around with my paper.

I sigh. If I can get three, that’d be good. Awesome even.

My first order of the day is a pretty basic grocery order. Milk, eggs, cereal, toilet paper, etc. Your basic midweek top up and I’m in and out in 15 minutes.

I knock on the door with my little wagon in tow, and an elderly man opens the door.

“Your order, sir!” I beam. He smiles at me and reaches his hands out for the bags.

“Can I give you a cash tip, miss?” He pulls his money clip from his pocket.

My good sir, it is a free country and you can do whatever it is that makes your heart sing regardless of company policy.

“Yes sir, absolutely. Whatever is most convenient,” I chirp.

The man hands me $2.00 and I thank him and jog back to my car with my wagon, chuckling the whole way. Hey, that’s a toll.

In my car I check my phone for my next stop.

Hmm. Too big, too far, too small, Goldilocks is not liking these choices. I check the time. I suppose I could do a bigger order it’s just…

My thought process is interrupted by another nearby delivery popping up. Under $100 but at least $35: milk, newborn diapers, size 3 diapers, wipes, bananas–a lot of bananas–cereal, red wine, two packs of double stuffed Oreos. Just right.

That said, this might as well be a 911 call judging by the contents. Ma’am, whatever I can do to help. I quickly accept the order and make my way to the store.

Hello! My name is Gabi and I will be your shopper today. I submit automatically through the app.

Hi Gabi thank you for being my hero

I pause. They actually don’t usually reply.

No, thank YOU for letting me fulfill my dream of being a hero.

Lol it’s the little things right, she responds.

I smile.

Agreed. This felt safer than fighting fires. Is it ok if I ask you about substitutions

Ofc, hero, she replies.

Fabulous, help is on the way, I respond.

Thankfully, the shopping goes mostly without saying. I get this woman all the bananas her heart desires, and everything else on her list without a hitch. Beautiful.

I don’t know what compels me to do it, but at the last minute, I decide to buy a bouquet of flowers. Nothing crazy. With my own money obviously, I’m not a complete monster.

On the ride The Boy calls. Boyfriend is a strong word. The Man Creature I Occasionally Allow In My Pants is just a lot to say. Jury’s out on whether I like him for more than his dick at present.

Don’t look at me like that.

“Hey man, what’s up?” I pick up.

“Me,” he laughs. I cringe. “Beautiful, I am just playing, don’t be serious.”

I literally have not said anything. I pause.

“Where are you?”

“Fulfilling some orders before I head to the beach.”

“Ugh why?”

“I super love having a roof.”

“Ha. Your dad doesn’t pay your rent?”

“Why would my dad pay my rent, Josh? He doesn’t live here. Does your dad pay your rent?”

He doesn’t say anything. I wait.

“Well quit taking forever. I wanna see that delicious booty.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I just hang up. I…don’t like when he talks. Talking of any kind–Like…with his mouth? The jury isn’t actually out, I kind of can’t stand him but he’s funny sometimes and is absolutely fantastic in bed. My favorite parts of him are his quiet side and his bedside.

Unfortunately, there is more to him than that, and I’m trying to decide if those other parts of his multidimensional soul are worth my effort. I put my phone on silent. Not today.

I pull up to this cute bungalow. The porch is just covered in kitschy pots and plants and bright colors. I unload my wagon, Damsel in Distress’s items and drag my wagon to the door.

I knock.

I hear fumbling, the cries of a newborn, and a sharp, “Benjamin! Not nice!”

Ooh, girl. Your hero is here.

The door Çanakkale Escort opens.

She…um…she is powerfully good looking.

Like, problematic good looking, because my damsel in distress is in leggings, a tank with stains on it, a burp cloth over her left shoulder and a tiny thing in the crook of her arm and she is still looking good enough to eat. Or maybe that’s why she looks good enough to eat. Why not both? Both is good.

Damn, she’s fine though.

Her chestnut brown hair is in a bun that has been redone at least twice in the last five minutes, and I’m confident she wishes it was washed. Even so the late morning sunlight brings out the natural red highlights and shine. Her nose turns up slightly at the end, sunkissed like her shoulders darkening her fair olive skin tone.

“Ah, its my hero,” a brilliant smile crosses her tired features, suddenly making her look five years younger, because this is obviously an assassination attempt on my person.

“My damsel,” I nod, grinning. She glances at me and flushes a pretty pink. She touches her hair briefly in a self conscious move that betrays her evident confidence.

A dirty little face peeks out behind her legs.

“The esteemed Benjamin, I presume,” I stick my tongue out at him and cross my eyes. He giggles. Toddler giggles are the best.

“Ha, you heard that,” she pauses and I feel her gaze rake down my body, lingering at my boobs and then down to my thunder thighs. I feel a little something heat up between my legs. Too soon to propose?

Did I mention she’s very pretty?

She’s very pretty.

She clears her throat, “You can leave all that right there. Nono, Benjamin, buddy, we gotta stay inside.”

The doll on her shoulder starts to rub her face back and forth on mom’s shoulder and fuss, and a dark spot blossoms on her shirt at the nipple. She claps one hand over her tit.

“Fuck, already?” she swears. “Shit, excuse my mouth.”

“Hey, I kind of take this hero gig pretty seriously, and it’s against my code of ethics to just leave this here, pretty mama. Can I at least bring it inside for you?”


She glances up at me while jogging the pink thing in her arm up and down, debating it, and then nods. I follow her in.

“Eat your apples, buddy,” she sighs and sits down.

Benjamin does not eat his apples.

Benjamin does stand on the couch clutching a slice, though.

Benjamin knows he has the advantage.

I drag my wagon into her cute well lit kitchen. I sneak a few more glances her way. Her breasts are engorged, but I’m guessing when they’re not full of milk they’re likely on the smaller side. I sigh in envy. So does my back.

“Alyse, right?” I start to unload and hand Little Dude a banana as he whizzes by. To wear or eat still remains to be seen.

She gives me a grateful grin.

“Yeah. How’d you know?” She lifts her shirt and latches the baby after some struggling. They make it though, what a team.

“Oh because I’m a creep,” I beam.

She freezes.

“It’s on the app, mama,” I laugh and I open her fridge to put away the milk.

“Oh God,” she laughs and turns bright red. She’s pretty. Again. Still. More. Gah.

I smile at her, probably stupidly. I look around her kitchen. She has bags of groceries from a different shopping trip still all over her counters. A basket of laundry sits on top of the washer and the dryer door is open with half a load inside as if it was just picked over.

Oh, mama. Does she not have any help?

“Hey, I’m sorr-” she begins nervously when I start unpacking all of her groceries, pulling them out of bags, rolling the bags up. Looks like it’s all non-perishable. That’s good, at least.

“The only saris I like are the ones you wear. You’d better not be apologizing for being outnumbered,” I grin. “Do you have any help?”

Her face looks strained. She opens her mouth and closes it. I come over to the kitchen table to collect the grocery bags left there.

“Okay, easier question, where shall I put your pasta sauce?” I ask with a smile. She sighs and smiles back, again that appreciative look. Our gazes collide for a moment.

Her eyes are big, the brown of upturned soil in the spring. In them there are flecks of gold and red. There’s a cleverness to them. Her lashes are long and dark and her brows are full and dark like her thick hair. Her pupils grow and she looks away abruptly.

Did I really think of poetic dirt? Am I having stroke? Why is she so hot? It must be heat stroke.

Hehe, Gabi, this is why nobody likes you.

I blink a few times and look back down.

Ah, right. Pasta.

She clears her throat, “The pantry. Honestly, please feel free to put shit wherever.”

I suddenly remember the flowers. I bounce on the balls of my feet. She blushes.

“I got you these! I saw the order and I figured you’d appreciate a little pampering. You got a hard job,” I cheese it with a wide grin and pull the colorful blooms out of a bag.

She’s looking Çanakkale Escort Bayan at me incredulously.

“I’m tipping the shit out of you,” she finally says.

“Ha, no need, do you, uh, have a vase?” I look around.

“I have a pitcher,” she chuckles, eyebrows raised.

“That’ll do, pig, that’ll do,” I joke. I freeze. Oh. Oh, no. Oh, nooooooo. Bravo, Gabi, way to call a post-partum woman a pig. Cool, cool, cool, cool.

“UM SO THAT CAME OUT—MOVIE, it’s from–“I stammer. Great, now I have to move.

“Babe, yes, I remember. I believe he was giving the piglet milk?” she winks. “You’re good.”

I flush. She winked, nobody winks. But she winked and my nipples got hard. Yep.

She laughs at my obvious personal plight.

She switches breasts, and I watch. When I look back up into her face she’s looking at me with rosy cheeks. I lick my lips.

“How old?” I ask.

“10 weeks, so uh…” she trails off.

“2 and a half months, she’s so sweet!” I gush. Alyse smiles and looks at the doll baby that’s slowly dozing off, milk drunk.

Mom jogs baby’s little arm. “Hey, no sleeping, finish the job.”

I grin. “My littlest sister was like that. Passing out half a tit in only to be up, pissed, in an hour. She’s three, now.”

She laughs, “So, you have baby experience then?”

“For sure. And I know you need the ladies to be emptied to make more so…” I watch her rub baby’s cheek with her nipple but it’s no use. Girlfriend is out like a light. I wet my lips.

When I look back up into her face, her eyes jump up to mine. She’s holding her breast, still. There’s a static in the air. I want to lick her tit clean. Fuck me, I am wet. Fuck me, I’m a perv. Her nipple looks at me accusingly.

I feel my own face heat up. “Pain in the butt, isn’t it?” I swallow. Smooth.

“Yeah,” she says softly.

More silence. More eye contact. More belly flutters.

I move back into the kitchen to stop staring at this poor woman’s boobs. I start organizing the groceries into departments and get to know her kitchen.

“So what do you call Benjamin’s little sister?” I call over my shoulder as I stack the cereal boxes on top of her fridge.

“Clementine,” she answers.

“Oh my darling,” I grin. I glance at her. She’s looking at my belly with an expression I can’t read. My heart does a thing.

I don’t know what makes me do it, but I linger adjusting the cereal boxes and arch my back just slightly to flatten my belly and push out my butt. I glance again. She’s watching. She bites her bottom lip.

Holy shit, I think. No, way, I’m making it up. I straighten, tug my tee back down, and start putting away the various noodle dishes.

“Um,” she starts. “I’m going to lay the kids down, okay?”

I shrug. “Let me know if you need help with that?”

She pauses and looks at me. This time when our eyes lock it’s me that looks away. Jeez, what the hell is up with me?

She places the baby in a pack and play right by the table, and takes a squalling Benjamin (covered in banana now) to go nap. By the time she comes back, I have all the groceries put away and I’ve started on her dishes, humming some goofy TikTok sound bite that’s been in my brain all week whilst wiggling my butt.

I glance at her. She’s watching me again with a little smile. I grin.

“You’re sweet,” she finally says. I shrug. Let’s make out?

“Hey, I know that it’s already kind of unusual that I’m here, but like I said I’ve got a big family and I’m used to this. Since the kids are sleeping, if you want, you could take a shower, and I’ll keep my eye on that bean? Or I can absolutely leave, because it’s already weird?” I grin while washing the bottles.

“No, don’t go!” she immediately responds. She closes her eyes and smiles. “Sorry. I miss adults. You are an adult right? You look young.”

“They let me drink now and everything,” I grin.

“I…would like that,” she admits. “If you really don’t mind.”

“Drinking or showering?”

She laughs, “Both.”

“Fair enough,,” I nod. “Go. Brush your teeth, even. Treat yo’self,” I joke.

She looks at me for a long while with a half smile. I look at her and can’t help but smile back. I bite my lip and blush.

She laughs a little and nods, finally accepting the help. I watch her ass and thighs as she goes, squeezing mine together. I need to get a grip.

Once I finish with the dishes, I work on her counters, gently placing papers with papers, carefully not mixing things up. I wipe down the counter and wipe down the sink, and start picking up toys in the living room.

Does she have help? I look across the room for hints. There’s pictures of Ben, pictures of family members presumably. Art. There’s a folded flag in a huge triangular wooden box. I think that’s from the military when someone dies…? I don’t have any military in my family.

There’s not a lot to go on in here. But there’s no wedding photo that I can see. She didn’t look like she was wearing a ring. Not Escort Çanakkale that this means anything. I could look at her mail.

Um, maybe not, psycho.

God why do I care? I’m being so ridiculous.

I’m on my hands and knees reaching under the couch for stray crayons pondering this and other things when I hear her speak.

“Holy shit. You didn’t have to do all this,” she murmurs softly.

I look over my shoulder and catch my breath. Her wavy hair is down and wet over her shoulder and she’s in a clean sports bra and leggings. I notice the hooks on the straps of the sports bra and realize it doubles as a nursing bra.

Nice. Easy access.

Ew, Gabi. I feel like an idiot.

She’s killing me, though. Her lips are full though her mouth isn’t particularly big; she almost looks like a doll herself. Her chin has a dimple and when she smiles her face transforms into this sunny youthfulness that’s beyond charming. I actually have no idea how old she is. She can’t be more than 30. She looks like she took the time to do her eyebrows. They look good. I wonder if it’s for me.

I pretend it is.

I look at her pale throat hungrily like some kind of freakish vampire. I’m going to get a cramp in my neck. Why am I such a lech?

The towel is around her neck as she dries her hair, which now that it’s down, I can see that it’s wavy, thick, and shoulder length.

She’s watching my ass. The same insanity from before with the cereal overtakes me and I reach back under the couch for the final couple of crayons, but I part my thighs ever so slightly. My shorts, I am fully aware, are so short she can see the color of my bikini bottoms. I push my ass out. When I slowly straighten and turn to look at her that deep red is on her cheeks again and her mouth is slightly parted.

Fuck. She’s so hot it’s unfair. Even though I’ve turned around and am now sitting feet flat, knees bent, her eyes are still on my shorts. Or what’s under them. I see her nipples harden in her bra. I leave my legs parted for her, my heart thundering, wondering how long she’s going to look. I spread them a little. I feel insane.

Her eyes finally travel upwards, and linger on my breasts and my own hardening nipples. I push my chest out slightly.

She licks her lips.


I want her.

I don’t want to flirt with her and rub one out later.

I want to fuck her. I want to fuck her silly and then do it again.

Her gaze finds mine and I know that I am so fucking turned on from the way she stares me down, that it’s written all over my face. I wonder if she can read my mind.

Fuck, I hope so.

Her eyes darken. I want to devour her and she knows it.

And I’m pretty sure it’s mutual.

“Why do you look at me like that?” she murmurs, barely audibly.

“Because you are fucking tantalizing,” I confess. I wet my lips again. My throat is so dry. “And I can’t stop.”

Her eyes widen in surprise. Oh, does she not know? Well, that’s bullshit.

“You are aware that you are almost unbearably sexy, yes?” I squint.

“Do you want some wine?” she clears her throat but her eyes don’t leave mine. I nod wordlessly, not trusting my voice after I said all that crazy shit.

She nods, swallows hard and heads towards the kitchen table. I pant in relief from not having to look at her for a moment. My God. I press my hand against my crotch for a second trying to relieve the tension.

Collecting myself, I stand up, adjust my shorts, shirt, and bikini top. When I brush against my own nipples inadvertently, I shudder, a bolt of electricity shooting to my clit.

I think I might need to get off in the car.

When I step into the kitchen area again she hands me a glass of the red I picked up for her. She’s close.

“I can’t thank you enough, this is incredible,” she whispers. “You just…appeared out of nowhere.”

I grin. “Anything for my damsel.” She snaps her gaze to mine.

That bold reckless feeling comes over me again, and I wet my lips. “Alyse?”

“Yeah?” She breathes, staring at my mouth.

Yeah, I’m fucking doing this.

“I was going to start on your laundry next…”

“Oh?” She blinks several times and meets my gaze.

“But I, um,” I take a huge breath.. “I’d like to kiss you first. If that’s okay.”

The terror that rips through me with that admission is the kind Hitchcock dreamed of creating. Gabriela, what the fuck are you doing?

She stares at me, and I stare back at her, resisting the urge to scream hahaha just kidding April fools and then run into traffic.

Silently, she steps forward and tentatively places a kiss on my lips. Just as hesitantly I return it. We part. We look at each other and I resist the urge to whine.

“Again?” She asks softly.

I nod, staring at her freshly kissed lips.

“Yes, please,” I murmur.

She dips her face close to mine and I press my lips against hers more firmly this time. She slips her tongue against the seam of my lips and I open my mouth to her. Her tongue delicately explores my mouth. I brush mine against hers. I very lightly place my fingertips on her hips.

Gently, slowly, we taste one another and I am trying to stay patient and savor her.

We part again, breathing a little heavier and the tension a lot higher. I have to fuck her, I have to.

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