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I sat at my desk in a daze, my mind spinning. This morning, I knew what I was doing, I thought. That was before Kylie Morgan walked into my life. This morning, I was working on hiring a live-in babysitter. Now, I’m planning on hiring a live-in babysitter and mistress . . . fuckbuddy . . . personal slut . . . something—and I’m not even sure I got those in the right order. Kylie had done that to me, and in the process given me the best fucking I’d had in years.
In fact, much of the day had turned into a marathon fuck session. I had nothing better to be doing until Hope got home from school, and Kylie said she had a free day as well, and she had come to my house at 9:30 in the morning. Somehow there just hadn’t seemed to be any urgency to get her out the door.
When Kylie begged for one more time, I bent her over and took her right there with her elbows on the bed, her heavy melons hanging free, and her big ass sticking up. I grabbed her ass hard with both hands and rammed my cock as hard as I could into her tight wet pussy.
“Fuck yeah, lover, squeeze that ass,” Kylie groaned. “You like that ass? You’ve worshiped my big fat titties, what about my big fat ass? Oh fuck you pound that little college-girl pussy so fucking good . . . squeeze my big round ass while you pound my pussy so fucking good . . .”
“I love your ass, baby,” I told her. “It’s round and firm and deliciously squeezeable.” I dug my fingers in and held on tight as I railed her even harder. Then a thought struck me. “But you know what I like even better than squeezing it?”
“What?” Kylie asked giddily.
“Watching it ripple and bounce from the pounding I’m giving you.” I leaned forward and grabbed her elbows, then pulled her arms back.
“Fuck!” Kylie shrieked in surprise. Her torso was hanging parallel to the floor, leashed and held up by her arms. She was unable to move to absorb the shock of my thrusts. Her round ass rippled and her body shook as I bombed away in her pussy, jackhammering her as hard as I possibly could. She came again, and then again, and then again.
“You like that, minx?” I growled. “You like being taken and taken and taken like my little fucktoy? You’re at my fucking mercy now.”
“Please, Sir, I’ll be a good babysitter, I won’t masturbate in your bed anymore,” Kylie mewled. What? “I promise I won’t watch your sex tapes ever again, or squirt all over your wife’s pillow . . . please, Sir, you can stop punishing my pussy now—ahhhhh—please!” She exploded into a shriek as another violent orgasm overloaded her system. I kept drilling her until her climax passed, then let go of her arms. She slid off my raging prick as she slumped forward onto the bed.
“Where did that come from?” I asked, dumbfounded.
“I thought it was hot,” Kylie panted, smirking at me over her shoulder. “I really did need you to stop, though—my arms were starting to hurt.” She heaved a couple deep, shuddering breaths. “Lie down on your back, baby. I want to make you cum with me on top.”
I did as she said. After a few moments, Kylie rolled herself upright and moved to straddle my hips, facing my feet. She impaled herself slowly on my spear with a long, low, heartfelt groan. “Mmmmm, I need this dick in my tight hole forever and always,” she said in a low, husky voice. She leaned forward, upping the pressure on my cock, and then her ass started to bounce. It was moving independent of the rest of her body, just bouncing up and down by itself. I watched her two perfect globes jiggle and shake as they went up and out, spreading her ass crack, then came down and together, over and over and over.
“Fuck,” I groaned. It was nothing I’d ever seen before, but I found it incredibly erotic, and the friction on my prick in this position was incredible.
“You like me twerking on your dick, Sir?” Kylie said breathlessly.
“Is that what this is called?” I asked, my voice husky. “I didn’t know. It’s incredible.”
“Ohhh, Sir, you deserve a woman who will fuck you right,” she moaned. “A cock this perfect deserves to be worshiped.”
“You’re doing it,” I gasped. “I’m gonna cum—”
“Cum in me, Sir,” Kylie panted. “Fill my needy coed cunt with a real man’s cum. Fill me up and make me cum.”
My balls boiled over; I roared as I flooded her hotbox with my load. Kylie yowled and came with me, her inner walls pulsing and roiling. Her body trembled and shook and she ground herself hard against me until our spasms passed.
Kylie 69ed with me until she got me long and hard again, then climbed aboard facing forward and hung her girls in my face. She rode me like a woman possessed while I licked, suckled, fondled and squeezed her perfect tits; I think she came two or three more times before I was ready, then again, screaming my name, when I exploded inside her.
We both needed to get clean, so I grabbed a towel for Kylie and led into the master bathroom. She gasped in amazement at the sight escort mecidiyeköy of my shower. It’s a long, glass-walled stall with two rainheads in the ceiling and two handhelds below them on the long wall. The recesses for soap and other things double as handholds on that wall and the ends, and there’s a deep seat at each end built for fucking. The floor is textured in such a way that it’s actually uncomfortable to stand on when it’s dry, but it gives great traction when the water is running. My shower is a great space for getting clean, but a better one for getting dirty—and get dirty we did.
Kylie knelt down in front of me, telling me to grab her hair and fuck her face. I did, blowing another load down her throat. I returned the favor, pinning her to the wall and eating her out so passionately that she came screaming with her arms and legs wrapped around my head. Then I sat down at one end and she straddled my lap. I stroked her back and her ass as we made out; she played with my hair as I kissed her jaw, her cheeks, her neck, and all over her luscious, creamy boobs.
When Kylie finally impaled herself again on my shaft, she rode me slowly, sensually, as we continued making out. She came gently a few times with small, soft cries before we finally came together. It felt like we could have fucked forever. She clung to me and wept softly into my neck; I held her like I would never let her go.
I did let her go, of course, but I fed her lunch first. On her way out the door, I told Kylie I’d talk with her soon. She gave me a small smirk and said, “Sir, this was the best interview experience of my life.” Her smirk broadened. “Your technique is amazing.” With that, she bounced away. I closed the door, shaking my head, and went to my desk to figure out what to do next.
I sat down and let my mind—and heart—take the time to spin freely, having learned from experience that trying to wrestle myself through these sorts of moments is not likely to be productive. Unsurprisingly, my thoughts careened from Kylie to Lori. How could I have not known? It was a fair question. Maybe not right away, but shouldn’t I have been wondering if she was cheating before she upped the ante on me with her promotion? Shouldn’t that—and her reaction when I asked her to reconsider—have told me what was going on?
Of course they should have, I told myself. They did. I just didn’t want to listen. I didn’t want to face it. And so I’d wasted more time. It had only been when she fought me on hiring someone to care for the girls that I had grown angry enough to admit my own suspicions. Having them confirmed had hurt like blue hell, and it hadn’t really made anything easier. I could go nuclear on Lori, but while that might satisfy my desire for revenge, I didn’t want to hurt my children. Maybe I could ruin her, but I didn’t want to burden them with any more wreckage than I could help.
Still, divorce was inevitable, so there was going to be wreckage. Why Lori hadn’t filed already I had no idea, but presumably she would at some point if I had not; it seemed best for me to make the first move if at all possible. Logically, then, the thing to do was to get someone hired to care for the children—someone to protect them as much as possible when the firefight began . . . because, sadly, I was sure it would be a firefight, no matter what I wanted.
This morning, that had been my only goal; my own needs and desires weren’t just on the back burner, they were hanging from the pot rack doing nothing but getting in my way. Kylie had changed all that. Now, suddenly, I wanted someone to do two jobs: take care of my girls, and take care of me. I would have to be extremely careful—which meant I would need a woman to be my partner in this who would be extremely careful—but I knew I had at least one woman lined up who could do it.
So, just hire Kylie and be done with it? I had already promised interviews to a number of other applicants, so it didn’t feel quite right to just shut the process down . . . and I had to admit that the prospect of fucking a number of young women before picking one was highly appealing. My first practical issue was obvious: where I had had one set of required qualifications for the job, now I had two—but I couldn’t say that. I thought about it and decided I could get away with asking for a picture or two from every applicant on the grounds that I wanted to recognize them when they came to the door. I would try to reschedule the interviews for any applicant who didn’t meet the second set of qualifications; those would be shorter, so I could double them up with interviews for applicants who did. Those interviews I still wanted to keep to one per day.
I composed a brief e-mail about the pictures, noting as I did that a few new applications had come in and adding them to the list. To my delight (and no small surprise) all of them replied quickly with at least one photo, and none expressed any objection. istanbul eskort To my great pleasure, most of them were quite attractive; to my relief, the ones who weren’t were not among those with the strongest rèsumés. I knew I wasn’t going to hire someone who wouldn’t measure up to Kylie as a girlfriend even if she was the most qualified to babysit . . . but I still would have felt guilty for making that sort of decision, even if I had to admit that guilt wouldn’t have deterred me for a second. Was that sexist of me? I won’t defend myself; I just couldn’t help it.
I classified the applicants into single-qualification (1Q) and dual-qualification (2Q), labeled them as such, and set about rearranging the interview schedule. One of the 1Q applicants promptly withdrew her name without explanation. One was scheduled for Saturday, when my wife would be home; I moved the others to the weekend as well and rescheduled the 2Q applicant who had been on the Sunday calendar to a weekday. I went to bed that night and slept harder than I had in years.
I woke Tuesday morning eager for the day, and with no idea why. It didn’t take long for me to remember. I threw myself into the morning routine with unusual energy; Hope and Joy picked up on it, which meant they were ready to go earlier than they had ever been before. I had them bouncing off the walls until it was actually time to put Hope on the bus and take Joy to daycare, but I was in a mood to bounce right along with them. I made it back home, sat down, and managed a couple deep breaths before the doorbell rang.
Carolina Reed was a bubbly, fresh-faced 19-year-old blonde with blue eyes, long, flowing hair, and a beauty mark on her upper lip; she was also tiny—she might have hit 5 feet in heels and 90 pounds in a winter coat. When she introduced herself, I was struck by her light, raspy alto voice; between that and her cute heart-shaped face, she was absolutely adorable. There was a slight glint of mischief in her eyes, however, that made me think there were real possibilities here.
“I love your house,” Carolina said happily. “It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” I replied. “I look forward to showing you around. Before I do, though, there are a couple things I need to tell you.” I sat down on the comfortable padded bench we keep in the front hall and gestured to her to sit beside me. She sat and put her hands on her knees, leaning intently toward me. “Since you would be living in the house and have a lot of responsibility for the children, I think you deserve to hear the whole story before deciding if this is a commitment you would want to make.
“My wife travels extensively and is only home on weekends (and occasionally not even then). I’m a writer”—a flash of recognition showed in Carolina’s eyes; she kept herself from saying anything, but That’s why he looks familiar! was written all over her face—”so I’m usually around unless I have a book tour or something like that, but I need to be able to work from home. I have deadlines to meet and contracts I have to honor, and since my wife started traveling, I’ve fallen behind. I need to catch up.
“That much is common knowledge. What isn’t—and please keep this in confidence, but I think you deserve to know what you would be getting yourself into—is that my wife has been having an affair for years now. At least one affair, for three years; I’ve confirmed that much. She’s grown increasingly cold, distant, and even hostile over that time, and it’s taken its toll on the girls. It’s taken its toll on me, too, of course, but I’m a big boy, and it’s my job to put on my big boy pants and deal with it. The girls are another matter. I’m trying to give them what they need, and so are both sets of grandparents, but we need help; we need someone who can give them some of the care and affection they’re missing.”
Speculation was boiling in Carolina’s eyes at this point, but she held herself still and listening. “That’s why I need someone to live in, to take a full share of the responsibility as the primary adult in the house. Obviously you have your classes, but I would need you to spend most of the rest of your time here. I’m not saying you couldn’t go out at all, but I would need you to schedule that with me to make sure we didn’t have any conflicts. Do you understand my reasons here?
Carolina nodded firmly. “Of course, it makes perfect sense. I assume the rule would be no boyfriend in the house?”
I nodded back. “That’s perceptive of you.”
“Not really,” she returned, shaking her head slightly. “It would have to be that way, especially if your wife objected to hiring a live-in babysitter. —From the surprised look on your face, I’m guessing she did.”
“That really is perceptive of you,” I told her.
“Experience,” Carolina replied sadly. “My parents had a vicious divorce when I was about Hope’s age.” My eyes widened at that. She nodded and continued, “Yeah, so I feel for your taksim escort girls. My parents didn’t have the money to hire someone, but if one had tried, the other would have fought it, and fought dirty.”
“Mmmm,” I said. I put a hand on Carolina’s shoulder and added softly, “Thank you for telling me.”
She gave me a sad little curl of a smile and said quietly, “Thank you for caring.” She shook herself a little and grinned. “Fortunately, I don’t have a boyfriend right now, so—no one to object.”
I chuckled. “So, given all that,” I went on, “including the fact that I don’t know what you might have to deal with from my wife, are you still open to considering this position?”
“Mr. Andrews,” Carolina said firmly, “this only makes me more interested in coming to work for you.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
I showed Carolina around the house and we chatted about various subjects, but especially her experience in childcare, which was impressive. We ended up at the dining room table to go over various practical considerations, like pay and benefits. At one point I asked her, “Have you ever been fired from a job?”
“Yes,” Carolina replied with a mischievous glint in her eye. “But not for doing anything wrong.”
“Oh?” I responded, curious. “What did you do?”
She smirked. “The mom found out I’d been fucking the dad for months.”
Struggling to keep my face impassive, I replied, “And you didn’t think that was anything wrong.”
“No,” she answered calmly. “She was a frigid bitch who was terrible to her husband. She didn’t deserve a stud like that, even if she was furious to find out some other girl wanted him.” Carolina licked her lips. “Just like your wife doesn’t deserve a stud like you,” she purred. “And this time, it would be easy to keep from getting caught.”
Carolina got up from her chair and came over to me to straddle my lap. “You know,” she murmured in my ear, “I had a terrible time seducing him. It took me weeks to get him into bed. But you’re looking for it, aren’t you? That’s the real reason you told me your wife is cheating on you, isn’t it—so I’d figure it out?”
“Like I said, you’re perceptive,” I murmured.
Carolina smirked. “You don’t just want a babysitter, you want your own private nympho who’ll give you her pussy whenever you want, wherever you want, however you want, for as long as you want, and keep begging for more.” She probed my ear gently with her tongue, then whispered, “You want me.”
I cupped her ass in both hands and squeezed. “Mmmmm, that’s right, mister, grab that tight little 19-year-old ass. Feel how firm and round it is. I’m a horny insatiable little nympho slut with daddy issues who needs an older man to fuck her brains out. That’s why I was looking for a position like this one. I was hoping I could find a daddy to seduce, but you’re a dream come true.” She ground herself against the bulge in my pants. “Especially if your dick is as big as it looks. Fuck, a dick like that—I’ve never had a dick that good—mmm, you’re just what I need . . . Hire me, mister, and the only question you’ll ever have is whether you have another load of cum in you to keep me satisfied.”
I gripped the hem of Carolina’s top and pulled it up. She took it herself in both hands, then pulled it off and whipped it aside in one smooth motion. To my surprise, she wasn’t wearing a bra; the motion revealed two pert little handfuls tipped with jaunty frosted-pink crowns. “Do you like my titties, mister?” she asked in a girlish voice. “Do you want to know my bra size? All the boys do. If I ever wore a bra, it would be a 32B, but I don’t wear bras . . . I don’t need them, and I like the way my shirts feel rubbing against my nipples—they’re big and sensitive and they get erect really easily . . . and even more, I like it when guys see my nipples poking through my shirt. I don’t have the big titties to get their attention, but when they can see my nipples, it doesn’t matter. Grab my pretty little titties, mister; feel how firm they are.”
I seized them with both hands, humming in delight. I flicked her nipples with my thumbs, watching them grow and enjoying her gasp. I bent my head to taste one, swirling my tongue around it, then taking the whole breast in my mouth and sucking on her firm, springy titflesh. “Oooooh, mister,” Carolina said huskily, “you’re making my pussy throb . . . that’s going right to my tiny little teenage pussy—” She broke off with a yelp when I pinched the other frosted-pink bud and gave it a little twist. I pinched it harder and gently nipped its twin; she yowled and shuddered against me and gave my pants a sizeable wet spot.
“Fuck, mister,” Carolina groaned, “that was—” Whatever she was going to say was lost in an orgasmic squeal when I slid my hand into her panties and swiped a finger across her little fuckbutton. I pressed on, probing for her sweet fuckhole and pushing two fingers in; I could feel her girl-honey flowing over my hand. I resumed sucking on her perky little tit and thumbed her joystick, making her mewl. I stroked the front wall of her tight box, feeling for her G-spot, and though I couldn’t tell when I found it, another squeal and another spurt of her nectar told me she could.
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