One night, after my friend Mike had to call off our normal Thursday night poker game due to the unexpected sickness of his daughter, I arrived home earlier than usual to see my babysitter, Kristine Schmidt, on her knees in my living room fellating a boy a few years older that her.
From the darkened driveway, I could see the well-endowed 18-year-old brunette take his engorged member between her lips, kissing along the shaft while she teased his balls with her fingertips. His cock, obviously moist from her efforts before my arrival, twitched under her touch. For a moment I contemplated making a loud noise to announce my presence, but watching Kristine on her knees servicing her friend's cock made me feel things I hadn't felt since before my wife became sick more than three years ago. Her passing had put a serious damper on my sex drive, so much so that I hadn't noticed what an exceedingly beautiful young woman I had hired to look after my 10-year-old son.
Now, seeing Kristine take a cock between her lips and tease the head with her tongue, I felt for the first time like fucking someone again. And not just anyone. I wanted to fuck Kristine. Even though she was 18, she was still in high school, which made me feel like a dirty old man of 35. I had taken good care of my body in the last several years, in fact, workouts were one of the only ways I had been able to take my mind off of my wife's slow decline. Looking back on it, I can see that I used it as a kind of narcotic, a way not to deal with the grief of seeing someone that I love dying. This meant that I was in very good shape for my age, and actually looked several years younger. I hoped to use that to my advantage to get Kristine in the sack.
Kristine's friend seemed in ecstasy as his member began twitching. I could see Kristine cup his balls as they constricted, then released, no doubt delivering a spurt of semen into Kristine's eager mouth. She looked up at him before licking him clean. Then, suddenly, she turned around and looked out the window and directly into my eyes. She wiped a stray string of semen from her lips and licked her finger clean before she helped her friend tuck his member back into his pants. Even though I knew that the glare from the lamp in the living room prevented her from seeing me, I couldn't help but think that she had noticed me watching, and that her sensual movements were meant to tease me.
I decided that the best way to make my presence known was to call her on my cell. I could see her pick up the phone almost immediately after it rang.
"Hi Mr. Richards," she answered, her voice sounding as if nothing had happened. I explained that there had been a change in plans and I would be home in five minutes. Then I wheeled my bicycle around the side of the house, stood, and waited while her boyfriend or whoever he was ran out to his car and drove away. After a couple of minutes, I rang the doorbell. When Kristine opened it, it was hard for me not to glance down at her ample breasts straining against the fabric of her button-down shirt.
"Hi Kristine," I said, "How was Luke tonight? He give you any trouble?"
"Oh no Mr. Richards," she said, smiling, "he went right to bed."
"Don't worry," I said, "I'll pay you for the full six hours even though it was only one,"
"Thanks Mr. Richards!"
I walked into the house and put away my bike helmet.
"Hey Kristine," I called from the kitchen, "how old are you now anyway?"
"I just turned 18," she said as she entered the room and stood next to me.
"Still too young," I said, uncorking the bottle of red wine that I kept on the kitchen counter.
"Not for some things."
"To drink, I mean." I could feel myself getting aroused against my will.
"What do you mean? Are you going to offer me a drink? Who's going to find out?"
"Would your parents be upset?"
"They'll never know."
"Ok."
I poured her a glass of wine and we clinked glasses.
"To your coming of age," I said.
"Cheers," she said, her eyes fixed on mine.
We went into the living room and sat down on the couch next to each other, each facing forward. There was a sense of awkwardness or anticipation in the air, at least that's what I felt. I still couldn't be sure that I wasn't projecting the fantasies of a horny 35 year-old man onto a teenage girl. I decided to test the waters.
"Kristine," I said, "I want to ask you something. When I pulled up on my bike, I saw a young man pull his car out of the driveway. Do you know him?"
Kristine smiled.
"That was Dave," she said, "he's a friend from school."
"Your boyfriend?"
"No, not really, but I think he'd like to be."
"What makes you say that?"
"He's always finding excuses to talk to me. You're not mad that he came by to see me are you?"
"To be honest, I don't like to think of you being distracted by boys while you should be babysitting," I said in a stern voice.
"I'm so sorry Mr. Richards," she said in a tone that seemed almost playful, "I didn't think you'd be home so soon."
"That's not the point," I countered, a little annoyed now,
"it's my house and you're supposed to be watching Luke."
"We just watched TV together. That's all."
