Emma's Summer Babysitting Job

"Does little Mr. Hopkins want Emma to kiss his cock?" I simply lay back, arms outstretched, and waited. I almost screamed when Emma's tongue moistly circled the purple bulb. Then she took him into her mouth. She took her time. She fondled my balls as she licked and sucked and kissed me. And all the while, between mouthfuls, she talked. Dirty talk. To both me and my penis.

And finally she sat back up and brought my penis back to her opening, to the opening that was still oozing out my first ejaculation. "Emma's going to fuck you now Matty, she's going to fuck you because you were always such a sweet little boy," she said as she lowered herself slowly down over the shaft. Then, once she'd been fully speared, she started to ride me.

***

"We can't ever do this again," Emma said softly some time later. We were entwined, and she was watching me as her cheek rested gently against my chest. One of her hands was lightly holding my flaccid cock. I was stroking her long blond curls. She was full of my sperm. In response to her words I mounted her a third time.

A half hour later we climbed up the grotto cliff and went home.

The next morning I walked through her front door at nine thirty. I found her in her bath. I climbed in.

"We weren't ever supposed to do this again, it's wrong," she said as I wrapped my arms around her.

"You're going to have my baby," I told her after we'd splashed half the tub water onto the bathroom floor during our lovemaking.

"I know," she answered.

We made love for the rest of the week. Right up until a half hour before the seven p.m. ferry carrying her husband and my mother landed. And we were standing shoulder to shoulder on the dock when mom and Clark hurried down the gangplank. Emma was full of my sperm. She was also pregnant with my baby.

I even said, and meant, some friendly words to Clark when he rushed up to his wife. Watching him hugging Emma I realized I no longer had any hard feelings towards the man I'd cuckolded. It didn't matter any more.

Later that evening, my mother and I, a wine bottle between us, sat talking on the beach until the sun came up.

"I'm too young to be a grandmother," she complained when I told her the news. But there was no doubt she was happy.

The Hopkins House, Monday August 10th

It was Monday afternoon. Clark had gone back to the city. Mom, who was taking a week of vacation, had stayed on the island. I'd been in Clark's bed since noon hour. With his wife. "Mom knows," I told Emma as we lay recovering from our latest coupling.

"You didn't tell her?"

"Uh huh. And she's expecting you to come to dinner tonight."

"Tonight? But what will I say?"

***

I could see that Emma was nervous when she arrived at our cottage just after seven. So I went outside to prepare the coals for the barbecue and let them talk.

When I came back inside twenty minutes later they were both smiling. I have no idea what they'd said to each other. But it turned into a great evening. The food was great and the conversation was just a warm, friendly continuation of the thousands we'd had over the years. We sipped wine. Told jokes and laughed. And later, Emma didn't protest when I put my arm around her as we sat nestled together on the couch.

And quite a while later, when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith suggested she'd probably better go home, mom poopaw-ed the idea. "Don't be silly. I'll leave you two alone; you certainly don't need an old woman getting in your way." Emma opened her mouth to protest but before she could get a word out mom was gone.

"I can't stay!" Emma protested.

I carried her to my bedroom. Our lovemaking that night was relatively noisy. "Don't make so much noise," Emma cautioned me more than once. "We'll wake her."

But I'd never been more excited. Fucking Emma while knowing that my mother, separated from us by a thin wall, could hear everything we did. And besides, it was Emma who made most of the noise.

At about eight-thirty the next morning there was a knock on the bedroom door. Mom had a full tray in her hands. Breakfast in bed was served.

And so Emma moved in with us. During the week that is. She spent her nights in my bed, moaning out her pleasure as mom slept in the next room. During the days the three of us sunbathed and swam at either the pool or the grotto, and even late at night we skinny dipped in the ocean in the darkness.

Two weeks later I left the island to get prepared for university. We didn't make any promises. "You be good," were the last words she whispered to me as we stood at the base of the gangway. There was a tear sliding down Emma's cheek.

Nine Months Later: April 27th 2010

I'd just walked out of my second to last final when my cell phone started to vibrate. I smiled when I saw who was calling. "Hey mom, are you checking up on me already? I told you, this one was going to be a piece of cake. I aced it."

"My labor's started."

"WHAAAAT! Where are you? Are you okay? I thought it wasn't supposed to be until next week."

"I'm fine. I'm on my way to the hospital. Mr. Williams offered me a ride."

I looked at my watch. "I'm on my way ... I'll be there by three," I promised. I'd already started to run across the quad before I'd got the words out.

"Don't you dare speed," mom warned as I rushed up the stairs towards my residences front door. Ten minutes later I was roaring out of the parking lot on my motorcycle. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later I pulled up in front of the Brigham and Women's Hospital. Five minutes later I was holding my mother's hand.

"You made it!" mom said the second she saw me. I couldn't miss the relief in her face.

"You thought I was going to miss the birth of my sister?"

"What about your last exam?" she asked.

"It's not til next Monday," I told her. Fuck, who cared when this was going on. Mom's gynecologist had been dubious when mom had told her months earlier that she wanted her son to attend the birth. In fact she told mom that it would be very unusual, that usually only father's were allowed to attend. 'The father's a bum', mom had responded. 'It's Matthew who's going to help me raise my daughter'.

So, two hours after arriving at the hospital, scrubbed up and wearing a hospital gown, I watched my sister, an extraordinarily beautiful baby, slip out of my mother and enter the world. Belinda Emma Hopkins weighed eight pounds and three ounces and was crying when the doctor placed her in my arms. She stopped immediately when I cuddled her up against me. She got the Belinda from mom's grandmother, Emma of course from you know who.

Minutes later, with mom and I still grinning like crazed fools and holding hands, we watched as they carried little Belle from the room. "So I guess you did beat Emma after all," I congratulated mom.

"And she was due a week before me," mom agreed proudly.

"Emma Pemberton-Smith?" mom's gynecologist asked.

Mom nodded. Mom and Emma had used the same gynecologist and had spent all sorts of time together over the previous six months. They'd actually made a bet on who would produce first.

Doctor Welles started to laugh. "They just pulled in an hour ago. You didn't beat her by much Ms. Hopkins."

'No way," I exclaimed.

Fifteen minutes later, after I'd accompanyed mom back to her room, I went looking for Emma. Within minutes I found Clark, gowned and looking forlorn as he sat alone in a hospital waiting room.

"You're mother delivered?" he asked when he recognized me. I nodded. "Everything okay?"

"Perfect," I agreed as I sat next to him. It took him a second but he finally noticed the gown.

"You were there?" I nodded again.

"Emma wants me to be there too," he said dubiously.

"That's great."

"I'm not going. I can't. I thought I could but there's no way. I'll be sick ... I'll screw up the whole thing ... I've been worrying about it for weeks." We talked for ten minutes. Or at least he talked at me. Explanations. Excuses. I even heard how he'd fainted the last time he'd been in the hospital. "She's going to be pissed ... I know she is," he said. As he mulled over the possibilities, trying to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of attending or not attending the answer suddenly hit him.

"You could do it! With your mask and gown on who the hell is going to notice the difference?" I told him I didn't think it would work. "Emma's delivering a baby. The doc and nurses are delivering it. How much attention do you think they'll be paying you," he argued. I lifted my eyes to the sky. It didn't faze him at all. "Fuck Matt, you've got to help me. I'll owe you big time if do this little thing for me. Christ Matty," he begged, "I'll even let you win if we play in the Club Championship this year."

I eventually agreed. But my motivation had nothing to do with golf. Clark's last words of advice to me were, "If anyone talks to you or asks a question just mumble." Yeah right. Mind you it was I who'd impregnated his wife so I guess it wasn't too much to ask.

Of course both Emma and the doctor immediately recognized me. I just help up my hands in a helpless gesture and didn't say a word. Five minutes later, Anne Isobel Kruger Pemberton-Smith made her appearance in the world. The Isobel was in honor of my mom. The little imp smiled when she was put in her father's arms. Emma smiled. The doctor looked at me as if she had a hundred questions for me.

"It's a long story," I told her, then handed the baby to her mother and left the room to tell Clark he had a beautiful and healthy daughter.

"They thought you were me?" he asked hopefully.

"No problem bro," I answered, gave him a quick high five, then I went to look to see how my mom was doing.

July 25th 2010 Hopkins Island

Mom and I didn't go to the island until late July this year. I'd rushed back to school after the births and then had written my final exam before returning to the city. Mom hadn't wanted to leave the city until she was pretty sure every little thing was okay. So I'd got a job, a trainee thing one of my great uncles had arranged with one of the city's private bankers and had spent most of May, June and July happily toiling away during the day and then returning every night to mom and my new sibling. When mom finally decided she was ready to go to the island I gave my notice and went with her.

I hadn't seen Emma since the day of my daughter's birth. She'd spent May with her mother-in-law before she'd gone to the island where her mom and sister had been eagerly awaiting her.

***

"Hey you," I heard from behind and to my left as I walked in the front door. I'd just got back from a quick grocery trip into town. Mom and I had arrived on the noon hour ferry. I turned. She was more beautiful than ever.

"Maybe you haven't heard yet ... I had a baby," Emma says.

"You did? You know, I thought I'd heard something to that effect."

"Uh huh. This is she."

"She's almost as beautiful as her mom," I said as I put my arm around Emma while I lightly caressed the hair of three month old Anne Isobel Kruger Pemberton-Smith.

"Ha! I'm old and fat, and my breasts are--"

"Perfect," I said reverentially. "And bigger too, which is good," I complimented as I ogled Emma's chest.

"Men!" Emma scoffed.

"They have one track minds ... breasts, breasts, breasts," mom offered from across the room. But before Emma could agree my lips were on hers.

Emma ate with us that night. Clark was still in town and not due on the island for another three days. And during dinner I learned that he'd never owned up to not having been in the delivery room.

"You should hear him," Emma confided over dinner, laughing as she told us the story. "He's now able to give a second by second description of the most harrowing and exciting experience in his life." Mom and I laughed. "He'll probably even tell it to you Matt. I think he's told it so many times now that he believes it."

Both mothers fed their babies during the meal. Then they did it again later as we sat talking in the living room. My mother had not an ounce of shyness in her. "It's the most natural thing in the world, that's why god designed them this way," my mother had told me her first day back from the hospital. And since that first day she'd never showed any embarrassment when she'd fed my sister in front of me.

Emma, clearly not as confident, had looked at me worriedly when mom had first bared herself that night. "They're just boobs Emma," mom challenged. "Besides, you're boyfriend spent the first six months of his life sucking from them."

"But not from mine," Emma said shyly even as she brought her daughter to her chest. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"Leave some for me," I advised my daughter.

"There's none for you Matthew Hopkins," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith advised firmly.

As it turned out I drank from the full breasts of the lovely Emma the next afternoon. Deeply. The three of us had been sitting naked, cross-legged on the sun mats as the two babies suckled at their mother's teats. With baby Anne at her mother's left nipple I dipped my head and captured her right one.

"You're so bad," she complained even as her hand moved to support my head. "What will your mom think?"

In fact Mom seemed quite happy about it. But she did warn Emma, "Watch out Ems, when he was a little baby once he'd latched on he wouldn't let go."

Later, while the two babies rested in their bassinets, and while mom lay tanning on the opposite bank, I made love to Emma for the first time in almost twelve months.

The days and weeks that followed settled into an easy routine for the five of us - Emma spent most of her time with us during the week and then she'd disappear back to Clark for the weekends. I spent my weekends with mom and sis or with the kids I'd grown up with.

Strangely I found that the dislike I'd always had of Clark had disappeared. Nor was I jealous of the weekends Emma spent with him. For now I needed him to be a loving father for my daughter.

I played Clark in the quarter-finals of the Club Championship. I killed him. He winked at me afterwards. Did he really think he'd let me win?

The summer passed. Too quickly.

It was only near the end of August that we talked about the future. "So how many kids are we going to have?" I asked her one afternoon. We were alone in the grotto. We were naked. We'd just made love.

"Clark wants to have at least three," Emma answered. "Every two years or so."

"So you and I will have to do something about that next summer?"

"If you don't find some young college girlfriend and forget me," she challenged.

I reassured her.

***

"So who is the father of your mom's child?" Emma asked another afternoon that last week of our summer stay on the island.

"Do you think she'd tell me?"

"I thought she told you everything." Emma had been subtly trying to get the info from mom for weeks.

"I think it might have been that weird guy, that ex-cop, the guy she was dating a year or so ago," I suggested.

"Trudi's aunt thinks it might have been the same man who fathered you. Did she ever tell you who your father was?" I shook my head no. Like Emma I too had heard the various rumors and gossip that had swirled around my parentage as I'd grown up.

"But I do know with one hundred percent certainty that Belle's father isn't my father."

"She told you that?" I nodded. "They're going to be best friends all their life aren't they?" I knew Emma was asking about Belle and Izzy.

"They'll be sharing birthday parties for the next twenty years."

"Do you think you're mom will want to have another baby?"

"She told me last night she wants at least one more," I confided to my love.

"So we'll be at least seven, and eight if I have three."

I kissed her.

"Are we ever going to get married Matt?"

"Of course we are," I answered.

Emma took the ferry back to the city the next day. I think, somewhere deep inside her, that Emma already knows the truth. I think maybe she always has.

I know we'll talk about it next year. If we're all eventually going to live together she'll have to know.

THE END

Thanks for reading my little tale. Please take the few extra seconds required and click one of the voting stars. Most of LITEROTICA'S authors are unpaid -- they're working for both their personal enjoyment and even more so for the entertainment of their readers. Sending us feedback, through either the voting stars or by also sending us a comment, is the main motivational force that keeps us writing.

I'd also love to hear back from readers as to whether they'd like to read the untold story that lurked within this one. It exists in my mind but as of yet is unwritten. It's the story of Matt's mother... and Belle's father.

Thank you, jim scouries