Babysitter Blues

Let me start by telling you who I am.

I am the nice guy who says hi to you on the street, sits beside you at church, comments on the weather. I am handsome, but aging; decent, but restless. I work in marketing and have a good job. I am a devoted husband and father with dozens of demands daily on my time and attention...which is to say, I was ripe for a fall.

Haley was our babysitter. 19 years old. A freshman at the community college. She watched our kids three days a week and was often wearing tights when I relieved her at the end of the day, tights which beautifully showcased her ass - all firm and high above dancer's legs. Yes, I noticed. And yes, it distracted me.

She seemed innocent - blue doe eyes, short strawberry hair, painfully quiet, shy. It took months for her to become friendly but eventually she trusted me, talked to me.

But I was still stunned by the first email she sent me. We would text sometimes, normal logistical stuff, but never email. I didn't even know she knew my address. But there it was...out of nowhere one Sunday afternoon.

She had had a crazy dream about me and asked if it was okay to share. I said yes, of course. We had been in the shed behind the house, she'd explained, searching for something and had started kissing.

She stopped there but I urged her to continue, promising no judgment.

"Okay. Thank you," she resumed. "We were kissing and then touching and before I knew it I had you in my hand and then I was kneeling and tasting you."

Again she stopped and again I prodded. "It's okay. Please. Finish. I'm enjoying it...a lot."

The third email was short and direct.

"You fucked me from behind on the floor of the shed and filled my pussy with your hot cum."

I did not answer her. I just pushed off my jeans and my soaked boxer briefs, got myself off, cleaned my considerable mess up, then joined my wife and kids at the dinner table.

I went about the business of my evening, heroically suppressing the thoughts and images she had so vividly constructed. Late that night, though, with my family sleeping, I checked my email and discovered a string of messages from her, all riddled with self doubt, worried over my silence.

Without even thinking I typed, "Sorry I disappeared. Everything is FINE!"

Her: I was so worried. Sorry if I overshared.

Me: I asked you too! Can I make a confession?

Her: Yes. You kind of owe me.

Me: How graphic can I be?

Her: As graphic as you want to be (I like graphic.)

Me: (I do too) I jerked off to your emails and came in about 2 minutes.

Her: That is so hot. Was there a lot?

Me: Tons. I think I'm still coming.

Her: Haha. Can I make a confession?

Me: Please.

Her: My pussy has been drenched all night.

Me: I think you should do something about that.

Long dramatic pause.

Her: Goooooooood...that was so good. Night.

I managed to sleep and awaken like a sane man - the surreal exchange somehow fading into that place where read books and seen movies live - a slightly more shimmery chamber of the imagination.

When I relieved her the next afternoon, though, things had definitely shifted. I let myself look at her more openly. Our silences, her smile, held more depth.

"The kids are all out running around," she said.

"Cool. Sounds good."

The sweet tension grew.

"Are we okay?" she asked.

She flashed a wicked grin as she passed me to leave, and gently touched my pulsing crotch.

I grabbed her arm with my left hand and reached my right hand down the front of her black, cotton, leggings where I easily scooped moisture from her dripping slit. I lifted my fingers to my face...sniffed, tasted.

"Absolutely," I said. "See you next time."

Late that night, sitting in the quiet of my basement study, I was thrilled to find an email waiting in my inbox. It contained three photographs. In the first, Haley wore a Catholic schoolgirl ensemble replete with plaid, pleated skirt, white blouse and knee socks. In the second, the shirt was unbuttoned, bra gone, firm tits and ruby nipples on proud display, more of her creamy thighs showing. In the final shot, she was seated with her skirt bunched up around her waist, her white panties dangling around an ankle, her legs spread, her neatly trimmed pussy opened, glistening. My eyes burned holes through the screen.

"You are fucking amazing," I wrote. "I almost came without touching myself."

Her next email contained a video clip in which she frantically frigged her clit, pinched her taut nipple, until she arched her back and groaned a hard, vicious climax for me.

"Fuck," she smiled as she breathed back down to earth. Eyes glued to the camera she added, "I was imagining your cock in me." She leaned in closer, her voice a raspy, needy, velvety whimper, "I want your fucking cock in me."

I looked down to discover my hard on in my fist. I couldn't even remember taking it out. I clicked back quickly to the third photograph and focused on her eyes and all the allure and power that they held. I quickly grabbed an empty coffee cup and shot my plentiful cum load into it.

Collapsing back onto the chair I thought, "What the fuck am I doing?"

Then I looked down at her pussy lips again.

To be continued...