A key to the Mistress’s trailer was a dangerous thing.  Dude figured it wasn’t a gesture of trust or commitment, but more along the lines of ‘Quit fucking waking me up to come crash here; some of us have to work for a living.’  Whatever the intention was, he abused his new privileges.  She may have talked trash about the trailer park she resided in, but her singlewide was like living in the fucking Ritz compared to the shithole on wheels that he called home.  He’d often show up when she was away just to sit in her nice, air-conditioned living room on her big, comfy couch that wasn’t covered in cigarette burns and crumbs, kick back and watch her cable.  He’d crack open a beer or four, treat himself to a frozen dinner or her leftovers, and have a smoke if there were any laying around.  If he was feeling like a gentleman, he’d find the To-Do list she kept on her fridge while raiding it and attempt to knock a few things out for her.  When he was feeling like less of one, he’d dig through her hamper and sniff her drawers or even pass out in her bed.

Sometimes, she’d be the one passed out.  If Dude showed up between the witching hour and noon, she’d likely be out cold.  He wasn’t a complete dick.  He knew she needed her beauty sleep and he had no intentions of waking her, especially since the key was given for that exact purpose.  For the most part, he’d keep himself occupied in the living room.  Every so often, he’d sneak into her room while she was dreaming under the guise of checking on her.  He’d usually just stand at the cracked door for a minute or so to admire how serene she looked in her sleep and watching the rise and fall of her chest.  Usually.  Once in a blue moon, he’d join her, especially when it rained.  She was out like a light on nights that it stormed.  She wasn’t the heaviest sleeper in the world, but the patter of droplets hitting her tin roof was her kind of lullaby. 

When Dude arrived that night, her snoring could barely be heard over the downpour.  He poked his head into the cracked door of her bedroom, then eased his way inside, careful not to make the door creak.  He slipped out of his boots, dropped his wet coat and jeans, then slipped beneath the blankets behind her.  She had donned her usual bedtime attire— nothing but a t-shirt and panties.  He closed the gap between their bodies, snaking an arm around her waist to snuggle up against the curves of her body.  His nose buried itself in her hair, still slightly damp from the shower she’d had hours before.  Peace washed over him as he inhaled her aroma. 

Even in her deep slumber, her body reacted to his presence.  A soft sigh escaped her as she settled back into his embrace.  Fearing she may wake, he attempted to soothe her back to sleep.  His thumb rubbed slow circles on her hip while the other fingertips rested against the elastic of her waistband.  The subtle stroking of his thumb gradually turned into his palm smoothing across her middle.

Dude’s tired eyes grew heavy, but excitement coursed through his body from the feel of her soft skin.  He groaned a little, too exhausted to do anything about the half-chub he’d erected.  It was nestled against her ass, not yet stiff enough to be a nuisance and wake her, but hard enough to inconvenience him.  He shifted to get more comfortable, rubbing his length against her in the process.  The dull ache in his loins grew more prominent in return.  His hand subconsciously slipped beneath the satin of her bottoms.  His fingers brushed through the warm curls of her bush, making him sigh against her neck.  The pads of his middle and ring-finger graced the cleft between her thighs, slipping into silken folds.  A sharp intake of air through her nostrils didn’t stop him, nor did a breathy sigh as he continued to mindlessly rub.  It instead encouraged him to plant his lips against her nape.  She still wasn’t awake and he was quickly losing his lucidity.  

“Aww, you match now,” Mistress said, swiping her thumb across Duke’s cheek.