My Babysitter, Part 2

666Katherine

The days following that poolside encounter blurred into a haze of stolen moments and building desire. Emily started lingering longer after her shifts, finding excuses to stay when the kids were asleep and my wife, Sarah, was out running errands or at her book club. It began innocently enough—or at least, that's what I told myself. A shared laugh over coffee in the kitchen, her hand brushing mine as she passed the sugar. But soon, those brushes turned intentional, her fingers tracing patterns on my arm, her green eyes locking onto mine with that same mischievous spark.

One evening, after Sarah had gone to bed early with a headache, Emily texted me from the guest room where she'd crashed after a late babysitting gig. "Can't sleep. Come keep me company?" I shouldn't have gone, but I did. Slipping into the dimly lit room, I found her lounging on the bed in nothing but a oversized t-shirt—mine, I realized with a jolt—that barely skimmed her thighs. Her legs were crossed, accentuating the curve of her hips, and as she shifted, it rode up just enough to reveal she wasn't wearing anything underneath.

"Mr. Thompson," she purred, patting the spot beside her. "Or should I call you David now?" We talked at first, about her college classes, her dreams of traveling, but the conversation veered quickly. Her hand found its way to my thigh, squeezing gently, and before I knew it, I was pulling her into my lap. She straddled me, her full breasts pressing against my chest through the thin fabric, her ass grinding down as she kissed me deeply, hungrily. My hands roamed under the shirt, cupping her perfect curves, feeling the heat of her skin. She moaned softly into my mouth, guiding my fingers lower, showing me exactly how she liked to be touched. That night, we didn't go all the way—just explored each other with hands and mouths, her lips trailing down my neck, her tongue teasing until I was aching for release. She whispered promises of more as she brought me to the edge, her body arching in pleasure when I returned the favor.

Sarah started noticing the changes. Little things at first: Emily's lingering scent on my clothes, the way I'd smile at my phone during dinner, or how Emily seemed extra attentive around the house, always offering to help with chores that put her in close proximity to me. One night, after Emily had left, Sarah cornered me in the kitchen, her arms crossed, eyes narrowed. "What's going on with you and the babysitter, David? She's been here way more than usual, and I swear I saw her adjusting her top when you two were talking by the pool the other day. It's... suspicious."

I played it off, my heart pounding but my voice steady. "Come on, Sarah, Emily's just dedicated. She's great with the kids, and yeah, she's attractive—who wouldn't notice? But that's all it is. You're being paranoid. We need her; finding someone else would be a nightmare." I pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead, deflecting with compliments about how she was the only one for me. Deep down, guilt gnawed at me, but the thrill with Emily was addictive.

Sarah backed off that time, but the jealousy simmered. She'd make snide comments about Emily's outfits—"Does she always have to dress like she's going to a club?"—or hover more when Emily was around. Once, she even suggested firing her over a minor mix-up with the kids' schedules, but I defended Emily fiercely. "She's reliable, Sarah. The kids love her, and she's practically family now. Let's not overreact." My words stung Sarah, I could tell, her face flushing with hurt, but she relented, muttering something about trusting me.

Emily overheard that argument from the hallway—she told me later, her eyes wide with gratitude as we stole a moment in the laundry room the next day. "You stood up for me," she whispered, pressing her body against mine, her hands fumbling with my belt. "No one's ever done that before." In return, she gave herself more freely, pushing boundaries we'd only teased at before. That afternoon, with the washer humming to mask our sounds, she dropped to her knees, her piercing green eyes looking up at me as she took me in her mouth, slow and deliberate, her tongue swirling until I was gripping the counter for support. She swallowed every drop.

Gratitude fueled her passion. The next weekend, when Sarah took the kids to the park, Emily invited me to her apartment for the first time—a small, cozy place downtown. She greeted me at the door in lingerie that left nothing to the imagination: sheer black lace that hugged her curves, her nipples visible through the fabric, her ass framed perfectly by a garter belt. "This is for you," she said, leading me to the bedroom. We spent hours there, exploring every inch of each other. She rode me with abandon, her breasts heaving, her moans filling the room as she came again and again. Later, on her hands and knees, she begged me to take her harder, her back arching, that sculpted ass pressing back against me until we both collapsed in exhaustion.

Sarah's suspicions grew, leading to more arguments. "I found a hair tie in your car that isn't mine—or the kids'. Explain that, David." I'd defend Emily again—"She probably left it after driving the kids to soccer. You're seeing things that aren't there." Each defense seemed to bind Emily closer to me; in thanks, she'd surprise me with bolder acts—a discreet handjob under the table during a family movie night when Sarah dozed off, or slipping into the shower with me one morning before work, her soapy body sliding against mine as she whispered how much she needed me.

The tension at home mounted, Sarah's jealousy turning into cold silences and pointed glares at Emily. But Emily and I couldn't stop; the risk only heightened the fire. I knew it was spiraling, but in those moments with her—her body yielding, her eyes full of desire—I felt alive in a way I hadn't in years. What started by the pool was evolving into something deeper, more dangerous, and I wasn't sure I wanted it to end.