My Babysitter, Part 4

666Katherine

The months dragged on, the air in our home thickening like a fog that refused to lift. Emily's subtle takeover escalated in ways I hadn't anticipated, her devious charm wrapping around the kids like a vine, choking out Sarah's influence one tendril at a time. It wasn't just the treats or the games anymore; she started inserting herself into their routines with a precision that bordered on masterful. Bedtime stories became her domain—she'd perch on the edge of their beds, her voice lilting through fairy tales with accents and sound effects that had them giggling long past lights-out. Homework help turned into mini-adventures, where math problems were solved with candy rewards and history lessons came alive with props she'd "borrowed" from her theater class. The kids hung on her every word, their eyes lighting up when she walked in the door, and dimming just a fraction when Sarah tried to reclaim the spotlight.

Sarah fought back in her own way, but it was like battling a shadow. She'd plan family outings—picnics, museum trips—but the kids would whine about how Emily did it better. "Emily lets us run ahead and explore!" Mia complained during a forced hike, her little legs dragging. Jack echoed her, "Yeah, and she packs those yummy sandwiches with the crusts cut off." Sarah's responses grew sharper, her patience fraying. One afternoon, after Emily had organized an impromptu backyard water balloon fight that left the kids soaked and ecstatic, Sarah pulled me aside in the garage, her voice a harsh whisper. "David, this isn't normal. She's turning them against me. I caught Mia saying she wishes Emily was her mommy. Her mommy! We have to do something."

I wrapped my arms around her, murmuring reassurances that tasted like ash in my mouth. "Honey, kids say stuff like that all the time. It's a phase. Emily's just energetic; she's not trying to replace you." But even as I said it, a twisted excitement stirred in my gut. Emily's manipulations were working, and the darker part of me reveled in it—the way she was dismantling Sarah's world from the inside out. It made our stolen moments even hotter, charged with the forbidden thrill of her conquest. That night, after Sarah had retreated to the living room with a glass of wine and a romance novel, Emily cornered me in the pantry, her body pressing against mine amid the shelves of canned goods. "Did you hear what Mia said?" she whispered, her hand slipping into my pants, stroking me to hardness in seconds. "It's happening, David. They're mine now." I fucked her right there, quick and rough against the door, her legs wrapped around my waist as she bit my shoulder to stifle her cries.

The jealousy ate at Sarah like acid. She started withdrawing, spending more time at her sister's or buried in work, leaving Emily and me with even more opportunities. Comments about Emily's appearance turned venomous—"That skirt's a bit short for babysitting, don't you think?"—but Emily just smiled sweetly, adjusting her hem with feigned innocence while shooting me a wink. The arguments between Sarah and me escalated too, her accusations flying like daggers. "You're always defending her! Is there something I should know, David? Because it feels like you're choosing her over your own wife." I'd deny it, of course, turning the tables with gaslighting that left her doubting herself. "Sarah, you're exhausted. Maybe you need a break. Emily's a godsend; without her, we'd be drowning." Each defense deepened the rift, and Emily rewarded me handsomely—in the car after dropping the kids at school, her head bobbing in my lap as I gripped the steering wheel; or in the basement gym, her yoga pants peeled off as she bent over the weight bench, begging me to spank her for being "such a naughty sitter."

But Emily wasn't content with the edges of our life; she wanted the center. It culminated one weekend when Sarah announced she was taking the kids to her parents' for a few days—some family reunion or whatever. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she packed, and she barely looked at me. "I need space, David. From all of this." The door closed behind them with a finality that echoed through the empty house, leaving me alone with my thoughts—and then Emily's text pinged: "They're gone? Perfect. I'm coming over. We have the place to ourselves."

She arrived within the hour, a vision in a tight red dress that clung to her like a second skin, her cleavage spilling out the top, her ass swaying as she sauntered in with a bottle of wine and a wicked grin. "Finally," she purred, kicking off her heels and pouring us glasses. "No more hiding in corners. We can be as loud as we want." We started in the living room, her dress hiked up as she rode me on the couch, her breasts bouncing free for me to devour. But after the first round, as we caught our breath, tangled in each other's limbs, she sat up, her green eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "You know what I want next, David?"

I raised an eyebrow, still hazy from the afterglow. "What's that?"

She leaned in, her lips brushing my ear. "I want you to fuck me in your wife's bed. Right there, in the middle of her precious sanctuary." Her hand trailed down my chest, teasing my spent cock back to life.

I froze, a jolt of reluctance hitting me like cold water. "Emily, no. That's... that's crossing a line. The guest room, the office—hell, even the kitchen table. But not there. It's too much."

She pouted, those full lips turning down in a way that was equal parts adorable and manipulative. "Oh, come on, David. Think about it. She's been such a bitch lately—snapping at me, trying to push me out. Don't you want to claim what's yours? Imagine it: me, spread out on her sheets, moaning your name while she's off sulking somewhere. It'll be our little secret, a way to show her who's really in charge now." Her fingers wrapped around me, stroking slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. "Please? For me? I've been so good to you... to the kids. Don't I deserve this?"

I hesitated, the wrongness of it twisting in my gut. That bed was Sarah's domain—our domain, once upon a time. The pillows still smelled like her perfume, the comforter chosen during happier days. But Emily's touch was insistent, her body pressing against me, her breasts heaving with each breath. She whispered promises, her voice a sultry lure: "I'll make it worth it. I'll do that thing you love with my tongue... and more. Just say yes." The reluctance cracked under the weight of her persuasion, the thrill of the taboo overriding my better judgment. "Fine," I muttered, my voice rough. "But just this once."

She squealed with delight, grabbing my hand and leading me upstairs like a kid on Christmas morning. The master bedroom felt different as we entered—larger, more intimate under the soft lamplight. Emily wasted no time, stripping off her dress to reveal matching red lingerie that accentuated every curve: the lace bra barely containing her massive tits, the thong framing her perfect ass. She climbed onto the bed, sprawling out on Sarah's side, her hair fanning across the pillow. "Come here, big boy," she teased, hooking a finger in invitation.

I joined her, my reluctance fading as I kissed her deeply, our bodies entwining on the familiar mattress. She was insatiable, guiding my hands to her breasts, arching as I pinched and sucked her nipples through the lace. "Yes, David, just like that," she moaned, her legs wrapping around me. I peeled off her thong, burying my face between her thighs, tasting her sweetness as she bucked against my tongue, her fingers tangling in my hair. "Oh God, you're so much better than she deserves," she gasped, her words fueling the fire.

When I couldn't wait any longer, I positioned myself above her, sliding in deep with one thrust. She was tight, wet, perfect—her walls clenching around me as I pounded into her, the bed creaking under us. Emily's moans filled the room, louder than ever, echoing off the walls that had heard Sarah's sighs for years. "Fuck me harder, David! Make me yours!" Her nails raked my back, her hips meeting mine with feral intensity. The wrongness lingered at the edges of my mind—this was Sarah's space, her scent still faint on the sheets—but Emily's body, her passion, drowned it out.

As I built toward release, thrusting deeper, faster, she locked eyes with me, her face flushed and triumphant. Right as I teetered on the edge, she leaned up, her voice a venomous whisper: "Sarah's such a fat, ugly bitch, isn't she? She doesn't deserve you—or this cock." The words hit like a lightning bolt, shocking and vile, pushing me over. I exploded inside her, the orgasm ripping through me with an intensity I'd never felt—waves of pleasure that left me shuddering, gasping, my vision blurring. It was the biggest of my life, every muscle tensing as I filled her, her own climax milking me dry.

For a split second, it felt wrong—profoundly, gut-wrenchingly so. The insult hung in the air, tainting the moment with cruelty. But then I looked at Emily beneath me, her green eyes sparkling with satisfaction, her body glowing with sweat, her full lips curved in a victorious smile. And suddenly, it felt right. So fucking right. She was everything Sarah wasn't—young, vibrant, devious in the best way. The guilt evaporated, replaced by a dark euphoria. I collapsed beside her, pulling her close, our laughter mingling as we caught our breath.

"That was incredible," she murmured, tracing patterns on my chest. "See? I knew you'd love it." We spent the rest of the weekend in that bed, fucking in every position imaginable, christening it as ours. By the time Sarah returned with the kids, the sheets were washed, the evidence erased—but the memory lingered, a secret fire that burned brighter than ever. Emily's hold was tightening, and I was more than willing to let it strangle what was left of my old life. What came next? I couldn't wait to find out.