The Caretaker's Secret

Many years ago, I suffered a head injury in a car accident and ended up brain-damaged.

Only my godmother, Fenelle Porter, remained to care for me after my parents' long-ago divorce and relocation. As my mother's closest friend, she possessed a mature elegance, a striking figure, and a complexion that was both fair and smooth.

My feelings for Fenelle ran deep, leading me to frequently lose myself in late-night fantasies about her.

A recent accident changed everything. While Fenelle was out shopping, I fell from a cabinet and struck my head. Although the impact unexpectedly restored my mental capabilities, I chose to maintain the facade of my previous condition.

Fenelle played a crucial role in my supposed rehabilitation, guiding me through fitness exercises and neurological-stimulating massages. These sessions provided a level of physical closeness with her that I was unwilling to forfeit.

During our scheduled workout today, Fenelle donned a form-fitting pink yoga ensemble that accentuated her curves.

As she followed a workout on television, she performed several demanding poses, encouraging me to mimic her movements. One particular cat-like stretch, in which she pressed her chest to the floor and elevated her hips, was incredibly enticing.

The thin, form-fitting leggings she wore became translucent as she stretched, offering a glimpse of what lay beneath. Positioning myself directly behind her, I was faced with her derriere and the clear outline of her private areas visible through the fabric.

In a sudden rush of heat, I reached out instinctively, my heart racing. The instant I made contact, my thoughts vanished into a total blur. The sensation was incredibly warm and soft.

"Ah!" Fenelle cried out, reflexively squeezing her legs shut. Rather than releasing my hand, the motion only wedged my fingers further inside. My fingers curled instinctively, meeting her warm, damp center.

A sudden wave of moisture erupted as she gasped and shook, soaking both my hand and her clothing. In a state of panic, Fenelle whipped her head around, her expression caught between irritation and deep embarrassment.

Seeing her flushed cheeks and moist eyes, my heart nearly melted.

"Derrick, stop that. You shouldn't be touching me there," Fenelle admonished, her skin blooming with a deep crimson.

"Why is it wet, Fenelle? It feels so good. I want to try it again!" I started playing dumb, not only ignoring her but actually going even further.

Fenelle let out a soft moan and collapsed onto the floor.

"This is so much fun! I’m going to keep playing. Otherwise, I’ll tell Sam that you got wet in front of me!" I rolled my eyes and acted like a little brat.

"Fine, I give in. I’ll let you play, but you can’t tell Sam, okay?" Fenelle was scared, too. She knew I was a bit of a troublemaker and couldn’t hold my tongue.

If my godfather, Sam, heard about this, he’d definitely get the wrong idea.

"Hurry up, hurry up! Stick it up so I can play with it!"

"Okay, okay, you really are bossy. Just be gentle when you play." Fenelle coaxed me, her face flushed as she lay face down, sticking her pert bottom up toward me.