Trapped in Amber

"That's a new dress," I observed. "It looks very nice on you." It did, clinging to her hips, with a swishing skirt that outlined her newly svelte thighs at every step.

Her smile was thin. "Thank you, I dropped another size last month and had to buy a lot of new clothes. I can't tell if it's the diet, the exercise, or the stress." She looked at me as she walked, her sad brown eyes pleading with me to ask the obvious follow-up.

"Work is still rough?"

She looked down at her shoes. "I wasn't talking about work."

"Oh."

"Yes, oh."

That shut down my attempts to compliment her, so I switched topics. "I am not sure Amber is a good choice as a sitter."

"Do you want to arrange for sitters?" There was a challenge in her eyes now. This was the newer, more confident Dawn. She tossed her long auburn locks in annoyance, and for a moment I saw that this new confidence could be sexy.

I could not answer her challenge, however. The mothers in the neighborhood trusted Dawn far more than me, particularly after the rumors had begun flying, so that was a dead end. "That isn't what I meant. I am just giving my input. I think she is too old, and is likely to let us down at the last minute to keep some date. Rumor is she is dating some college football player."

"It's just a rumor. She hasn't let us down yet. I don't think we should punish her for a mistake until she makes one."

"Isn't there anyone else?"

Dawn turned to look at me, and I knew I had lost the argument by the steel in her eyes. "No, there isn't, Kevin. We are a troubled couple, and the mothers tut tut and make excuses for their daughters. Katie is the only one who has been a good enough friend, and I will tell you, she had to order Amber to do it."

My stomach sank, it was one more confirmation that the mysterious story-writer had indeed been Amber.

"I think these nights are important," Dawn said. "I am not sure we can get back what we once had, or whether we even should, but we won't know if we don't try."

"Are you trying? It's up to you whether you choose to forgive me, but if you aren't going to do so, you should just tell me and we should stop pretending."

"I am trying, Kevin. It's hard. It's so hard. I thought I was plain and boring and wondered what you saw in me, but I trusted you. I don't trust people easily, and this... this..." I saw tears in her eyes. "I just need more time. I am still learning who I really am."

"You are beautiful. You always have been, but now more than ever."

She smiled through her tears, but it looked forced.

We returned home early. Jason was still concluding his bedtime rituals, and ran down the stairs for goodnight hugs. I picked him up and tossed him in the air until he squealed, avoiding any eye contact with Amber.

Dawn was annoyed. "Kevin, don't rile him up. Amber, could I trouble you to read him his bedtime story while I do his laundry? We will still pay you for the full night, so this is still on the clock."

"I would love to!" Amber exclaimed. "What story do you want, little guy?"

"Bedtime Bear! Amba read Bedtime Bear" Jason couldn't quite say "Amber".

"Let's go!" Amber scooped him up and carried him upstairs. Her shorts were a little too short, and I tried not to watch the swaying of her hips, the luxurious curve of her ass, and the tanned, sinuous slopes of her legs as she ascended the steps. I failed.

Jason saw me over Amber's shoulder, and called out. "Daddy read Daddy Bear! Amba read Bedtime Bear."

"I think Amber can handle it, slugger."

Amber turned around and fixed me with a beautiful smile. It was the first time tonight I had looked her in the eyes, and I knew I saw mischief dancing in their azure depths. "Oh come on, Mr. Cleft, you do the voice so well, and it would be sooo special to Jason!"

"Yay! Daddy read too!" Jason was clapping his hands together, and looking at me with adoration.

Trapped, I followed them up the steps. My wife was already in the room, piling up the laundry. I thought I saw her eyes narrow slightly as I entered shortly behind Amber, still resenting me for the tears I made her shed earlier tonight.

"It's eight o'clock. Bedtime Bear must go to bed!" I began in my gruff Daddy Bear voice, reading over Amber's shoulder, but staying as distant as I could.

"I am hungry, Daddy Bear!" Amber whined.

"Bedtime Bear can eat a snack," I said. Amber was wearing the too-musky perfume again, and I could smell her shampoo in her hair. I was standing too close.

Jason pretended to eat. "Num, num, num." He watched his mother leave the room with a load of laundry.

"Snack time is done. Now, Bedtime Bear must go to bed!" I said.

Amber turned to look at me this time. "The bed is too far, Daddy Bear!" she pleaded with laughter in her eyes.

It was awkward again. "Then I will carry you, Bedtime Bear."

Jason looked annoyed. "Daddy carry Amba!" Damn, I always picked him up at this part of the book, and he expected me to do it to her.

"Amber's all grown up and too big to carry, sweetie."

Jason crossed his arms and made a gorilla face.

Amber was looking at Jason with sympathy. "How about if Daddy just puts his arm around me?"

That seemed to mollify Jason, and I placed my arm around Amber to give a brief hug.

She surprised me by reaching across her chest to hold my hand, pinning it around her shoulder and leaning her head to rest on my chest — imitating the bear cub in the book. I tried to not to think about the warmth of the contact, or her intoxicating scent, and hurried to the next line. "Bedtime Bear must go to bed!"

"But Daddy Bear, I need to brush my teeth!" Amber turned to look at me, opening her mouth in a wide smile, showing off her perfect teeth. Jason clapped in admiration of the live representation of the book's art. Amber's face and flawless skin were mere inches from me.

Feeling a flush of heat, I recognized my cue to extricate Amber from my arms. I may have imagined a flash of disappointment from her. "Bedtime Bear can brush his teeth," I said.

The story continued through tooth brushing, potty break, bedroom cleanup, and bedtime story, until Daddy Bear was so exhausted from putting Bedtime Bear to bed, that Amber, in her Bedtime Bear voice, finally said Jason's favorite line, "Daddy Bear must go to bed!" Amber scrunched her face adorably in mock sincerity, and Jason squealed in delight.

I managed to avoid additional contact with Amber until I kissed my son goodnight. Amber had leaned over to kiss the opposite cheek, and my nose briefly grazed her hair, taking in one more whiff of her tantalizing scent. She was smiling as she withdrew.

Dawn's footsteps approached on the stairs, and I walked out to meet her with Amber on my heels, uncomfortably close. "Mr. Cleft, are you taking me home now?" Amber asked.

"I am a little wiped. Dawn, can you take her?"

Dawn looked at me with her brow furrowed in puzzlement of what ailed me, and nodded. Amber followed her down the stairs, but she turned back to give me a little wave and a beaming smile before she turned the corner. I tried not to wave back, but failed again.

I banged my head against the wall, trying to knock the sexual tension and frustration from my brain.

Dawn called from downstairs. "Kevin, make Jason stop that banging and go to sleep!"

—-

I swallowed when I saw the new story the following Thursday night.

Babysitter Seduction Diary, Part Two

Dear Diary,

I think he read my last diary. He wouldn't look at me when I showed up at his house, and his face got all red every time I walked into the room. It was so cute, but it made me worry he would expose the depth of our true feelings for each other. Lucky for us, his bitch of a wife barely pays him any notice.

I wasn't a very good babysitter. I set their son in front of the TV for a half hour, and went exploring. He had locked the computer, which was another sign that he read my diary, so I had to go exploring elsewhere. That's when I discovered that his wife has him sleeping in the guest room! I was wrong, she isn't a bitch, she's a... (If I want him to think of me as a woman instead of a silly girl, I need to speak like a woman speaks) she's an all-out... cunt!

She also must be made of ice, because if I were his wife, there is no way I could sleep in a different bed for even one night. I would be crawling under his covers within minutes of the lights going out, feeling if he was hard for me. My last boyfriend wanted me to take him in my mouth, but I wouldn't do it, which is why he broke up with me. But I hear most women do that for their boyfriends or husbands, and my mouth is starting to water thinking of doing it to him, as if he would be a delicious ice cream cone that I would take in my mouth all at once. I bet if I took him in my mouth I would like it, and so would he. I wonder how he would feel in my mouth, all hard and wet from my spit? I heard that at the end when the sperm comes out, that most girls don't like to swallow it, but the boys really like it when they do. I promise myself that if he comes in my mouth I will swallow every last drop, smile at him when I do it, lick my lips and ask for more.

I have heard some girls whisper that guys do the same for them, using their tongue and mouth down there. I wonder what it would feel like if he used his tongue on me? I bet it would be so much better than my own fingers. My fingers can't nibble or lick or suck, and they are hard and dry instead of soft and wet. Oh my God, I am getting all soft and wet myself just thinking about it.

I had a dirty thought and went into his cunt of a wife's bedroom. I looked around in her dressers, and couldn't find much that was interesting. She has such boring underwear, all white or pink cotton. No thongs, or satin bikinis, nothing skimpy, lacey, or see through. If I was married to him, or if I was his Other Woman, I would only wear sexy underwear — if I wore any underwear at all! I would make sure I was ready and sexy for him all the time!

I grabbed a pair of boring white cotton panties, and went back to his bedroom, where he must sleep all lonely and unsatisfied. I took off all my clothes and put on his wife's panties, and nothing else. She was a size six, like me, and they hugged my waist and crotch. I laid on his bed pretending I was his wife or even his Other Woman, and I thought of all the things I would do. I wonder what his real wife never lets him do? Maybe he will want me more if I promise to let him do all the things she won't. I have heard some guys like to be in control, and tie a woman up and spank her. I would like that if it was him spanking me. Some like to have sex with a woman in the butt, or have sex in movie theaters, or in a restaurant bathrooms. Maybe if I promised him all those things and more.

My... pussy... was getting even wetter, and I was soaking his wife's panties, and I touched myself again, thinking of him. I have touched myself every night since I discovered he was fantasizing about me, and I am having orgasms each time. They feel soooo goood, but they are shadows. I want the real thing. I want him touching me, sucking my breasts, feeling my ass, kissing my mouth and sticking his... you know... inside me.

I should just say it. I am a woman. His cock, his member, his dick, his prick. All the words I have heard people call it, I want to feel it moving and spurting inside me.

But for now I only had my fingers, and I used them, rubbing myself through his wife's panties until I came. When I took them off, they were soaked and smell of me. I got another evil thought and opened up his dresser, and stuffed them way in the back of his sock drawer. His wife has many pairs just like them and they won't be missed.

They got home early, and I thought it's funny when he tries to avoid me, but his son insists that he read the story with me. He was nervous the whole time, as if he knew I was thinking of nothing else except pulling him into his bedroom and ripping his clothes off. I think his wife was jealous that the two of us were reading the story together. She came back fast from doing laundery, and jumped at the chance to drive me home. I was disappointed that he wouldn't drive me home. I was going to suggest that he pull over and I would give him a blow job by the side of the road, giving him a taste of what he could have with me.

I can't wait until I babysit for them next Friday.

I was in the guest bedroom within seconds, pulling open my sock drawer, hoping and fearing what I would find. They were there, white, rumpled, and still smelling of female musk and a hint of Amber's perfume. I sat down on the bed, feeling them in my hands. This was no good. Dawn was too smart, Amber was too naive and foolish, and I was too weak. But I loved my son, and still felt loyalty and an echo of love toward my wife. I wanted to take that echo, and build on it, until it became a loud strong voice, and Amber was threatening all that — threatening my relationship with my son.

I didn't move. I couldn't banish the image of Amber lying on this very bed, fingering herself through these very panties. I could picture her legs writhing, her hips squirming, breasts covered with a sheen of perspiration as she bit her lip — fluttering lashes and rolled-back eyes, furiously flicking her way to ecstasy. I couldn't help it. I pulled down my pants and wrapped the panties around myself, and echoed her actions.

Afterward, I went back to my computer, clicked on Babysitterslut's author page, and sent her a message. "This has to stop."

—-

The next morning, Dawn was on the phone for a half hour before she hung up. She had been talking to her sister and arranging the logistics for a visit. "Summer is sick and is asking me up to her house for the weekend. Do you mind if I take Jason with me? I am going to leave work early." She had her laptop bag and Jason's day care supply bag sitting on the counter, ready to leave for work.

"What about date night?" The dates hadn't gone all that well, but I knew they were necessary.

"Oh! I forgot. I will call Amber to cancel for this week." She picked up the phone again, and I heard her leave a message.

I kissed Jason goodbye. His return kiss left peanut butter on my cheek. Dawn gave me her own chaste kiss, avoiding the peanut butter, and they were off. I would miss them, or Jason at least, but a week away from Amber's temptation was all to the good.

That thought flew from my head when my Google chat dinged ten minutes later.

The message was from "Sitterslut". I gulped.

Sitterslut: I got your email message asking me to stop. Stop what? Who is this?

Cleftjaw: You know who this is, Amber. You need to stop these diaries.

Sitterslut: Ooh, so you *are* reading them. I wasn't sure.

Cleftjaw: Yes, now knock it off.

Sitterslut: You don't mean that. I can tell how you get around me, and I can guess what my stories are doing to you. Your wife just left a message that she and your son will be out of town this weekend.

Cleftjaw: I have my own trip this weekend, and won't be around.

Sitterslut: lol! I don't think so. I am going to arrange something. Talk to you later.

She disconnected while I was typing my response.

My stomach sank. There were limits to what I could do. If this had happened last year, I could have told Dawn, and she would have trusted me, but not only had Dawn lost all faith in me, Amber was the daughter of one of Dawn's best friends. Dawn wouldn't believe me, and I couldn't prove what Amber was doing without explaining why I was reading babysitter porn on my computer at night. I would just need to be forceful, and hope I was strong enough to back it up.

—-

Just as I was ready to leave work at five, my smart phone buzzed again with another message.

Sitterslut: Broken Oak Hotel. Room 69. I asked for it and the clerk snickered. I spent most of my babysitting money, and am waiting for you. Want to know what I am wearing?

I ignored it, and got in my car. My phone buzzed again.

Sitterslut: A t-shirt, pants, and socks. Oops. Now just a t-shirt and socks.

I didn't respond. I considered shutting the phone off, but couldn't resist knowing what else she might say. To my shame, I kept reading her messages as she sent them every couple minutes. I was risking my life checking messages while driving, and risking the lives of others on the road, but I couldn't care.

Sitterslut: I have nothing to do while waiting for you except to prepare myself. Just wearing socks now. I would take them off too but my feet get cold.

Sitterslut: You aren't getting cold feet are you? I didn't think so. As I said in my stories, I don't think my fingers are a good substitute for you, but I have nothing else until you get here.

Sitterslut: I am all wet and I have to keep cleaning my fingers off to type. I have already come once.

Sitterslut: um... twice. I am learning to type one-handed. Still wearing socks. You will take them off me when you are hear.

Sitterslut: what are going to do to me first?

Sitterslut: Can you go down on me tonight? No one has done that to me before and I think I would like it. I will go down on you first, and you can fuck me first, of course, as often as you want.

Sitterslut: And I will let you do anything else that cunt of a wife won't let you do.

Sitterslut: I see you....

The hotel had been on my way home. She had chosen it deliberately, knowing how much harder it would be to drive past her. Broken Oak was a cheap hotel, with doors located right on the parking lot. I was fifty feet away from room 69, staring at the window.

I saw a curtain move, and glimpsed delicate fingers holding it open just enough for someone to peak through. I thought I saw a glint of blonde hair.

Sitterslut: I new you would come. The door is unlocked. Enter and please please please fuck me. I want to be yours.

I closed my eyes and held my head in my hands. What was I doing? Dawn. Dawn. Dawn. Jason. Jason. Dawn. Jason.

Sitterslut: You are just standing there. Are you thinking of that cunt wife who won't touch you? I will be even better than she ever was. I promise.

Jason. Jason. Jason.

I kept my son's beautiful face in my head as I drove off in the car, not looking back. The next time the phone buzzed, I switched it off.

—-

A brass band was playing in my head, and my mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn't see. I fell back asleep.

—-

I was Prometheus, chained to a rock, sentenced to eternal torture for his sins. A buzzard was to be sent once a day to eat my liver, but today they sent a harpy. Harpies were supposed to be ugly, but this one had a flawless tanned face, large blue eyes, a beautiful smile, and perfect, nubile breasts — and she wasn't eating my liver. Her mouth was instead doing wonderful, mysterious things, and I arched my hips forward to meet her. I tried to move my hands to touch her smooth face, but the manacles held them to the rock wall.

The harpy looked up at me, with my cock in her mouth, and smiled. "Oh you are awake."

Everything was black again. I couldn't see, and couldn't move my hands or legs. I could tell that my body was spread-eagled and naked, and I knew I had an erection, but my head was fuzzy. Coherent thought required enormous effort. "What?"

I was engulfed by her mouth and tongue. I was bathed in pleasure, with a passion and fervor that I had never known, as if someone had just discovered that sucking cock was her purpose on earth, and had embraced her destiny.

"Good. I have been having fun waiting for you, practicing. By your moans, I think I must have been doing good." The voice was an alto purr, speaking just a foot from my face, but I couldn't see her.

"Amber?"

The bed bounced as she switched positions. My question had earned another fellatial embrace by her warm, wet mouth. Dawn had given up on oral sex years ago, and I felt like I was returning to heaven as Amber stroked me with her tongue. Her technique was far more enthusiastic than my wife's had ever been.I tried pulling my hips away regardless.