My Babysitter, Part 6

666Katherine 

The weeks following Sarah's departure blurred into a whirlwind of freedom and indulgence. Emily practically lived at the house already, her clothes mingling with mine in the closet, her makeup scattered across the bathroom counter that Sarah had once kept immaculate. The kids thrived under her care, their laughter echoing through the halls as she turned everyday routines into adventures. Mia and Jack barely asked about their mom anymore, content with Emily's bedtime stories and homemade pancakes shaped like animals. Sarah called occasionally, her voice strained and distant, checking in on the kids but avoiding any real conversation with me. She was still at her sister's, "figuring things out," she said. I knew it was code for licking her wounds, but the guilt I'd felt that first night had faded, replaced by the intoxicating high of my new life with Emily.

One evening, after putting the kids to bed, Emily and I collapsed onto what was now our bed—the king-sized mattress in the master bedroom, sheets rumpled from an earlier quickie. She was wearing one of my button-up shirts, unfastened just enough to reveal the swell of her massive breasts, her nipples peeking through the fabric. Her long wavy hair was tousled, framing her face as she curled against me, her hand tracing lazy circles on my chest. The room smelled of her perfume mixed with the faint musk of our sex, a scent that had overwritten Sarah's entirely.

"Mmm, David," she murmured, her green eyes sparkling in the dim light. "This feels so right, doesn't it? Waking up together, falling asleep like this... but it's not enough. I want more."

I chuckled, pulling her closer, my hand sliding down to cup her perfect ass. "What more could there be? You're here every night anyway."

She propped herself up on one elbow, her breasts shifting enticingly under the shirt. "Exactly. Why not make it official? Let me move in. For real. All my stuff here, no more running back to my apartment. Think about it—I could wake you up every morning the way you deserve." Her hand drifted lower, fingers wrapping around my cock, which stirred at her touch. "Imagine starting your day with my lips around this, sucking you off slow and deep before you even get out of bed. No rushing, no hiding. Just me, making you feel amazing. It'd make you so much happier, David. You'd go to work with a smile, full of energy. And I'd be here waiting when you get back, ready for more."

I groaned as she stroked me, her words painting a vivid picture. The thought of her mouth on me every morning—those full lips, that talented tongue—sent a rush of blood south. "Emily, that's... tempting. But what about Sarah? She's still technically my wife. And the kids..."

She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear, her hand picking up pace. "The kids already love me like a mom. And Sarah? She's out of the picture. She's weak, David. She couldn't hold onto you, onto this family. But I can. I'll make you happier than she ever did. Just say yes, and I'll prove it every single morning." She shifted down, her mouth replacing her hand, taking me in deep with a swirl of her tongue that made my toes curl. She bobbed slowly, her eyes locked on mine, popping off just long enough to whisper, "Please? For us?"

Resistance crumbled under her persuasion, the pleasure building as she worked me expertly. "Yes," I gasped, threading my fingers through her hair. "Move in. Make it official."

She hummed in approval around my cock, the vibration pushing me over the edge. I came hard, spilling into her mouth as she swallowed eagerly, her eyes gleaming with triumph. Afterward, she crawled back up, kissing me deeply so I could taste myself on her lips. "You won't regret this," she promised. "This is our life now."

Sarah returned a few days later, her suitcase in hand, looking thinner and more fragile than I'd ever seen her. Her eyes were puffy from what I assumed were sleepless nights, her once-confident posture slumped. She wanted to "talk," she said, to "try and fix things for the kids' sake." We sat her down in the living room—Emily and I side by side on the couch, her hand possessively on my thigh, while Sarah perched on the edge of an armchair like a guest in her own home.

"Sarah," I started, my voice steady, "things have changed. Emily's moving in. Permanently. She's been incredible with the kids, and... well, she's what I need now."

Sarah's face paled, her small hands twisting in her lap. "Moving in? Here? But David, we're still married. This is our house—"

Emily cut in, her tone sweet but laced with steel, her green eyes fixed on Sarah. "It was your house. Now it's ours. But we're not kicking you out completely. You can stay—for the kids. They'll need some stability. You can move to the basement. It's finished, right? Cozy little space with a bed, bathroom, even a mini-fridge. You'll have privacy... mostly."

Sarah blinked, tears welling up. "The basement? Like... like a tenant? David, please—"

I nodded, echoing Emily's words. "It's for the best. You can still see the kids every day, help out if you want. But the master bedroom is ours now. And the basement is right underneath it, so... you'll probably hear us sometimes. At night. Or whenever." I felt a twisted thrill saying it, watching the realization dawn on her face.

Emily leaned forward, her massive breasts straining against her top, a subtle reminder of what Sarah lacked. "Think about it, Sarah. You'll hear everything—David moaning my name, the bed creaking as he fucks me in what used to be your spot. It'll be a good reminder of where things stand. But hey, at least you'll be close to the family."

Sarah's lip trembled, tears spilling over as she covered her mouth. She looked between us, searching for mercy, but found none. The humiliation burned in her eyes, her small chest heaving with suppressed sobs. "I... I don't have a choice, do I?" she whispered, voice breaking.

"No," Emily said simply, smiling. "You don't."

Sarah swallowed hard, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She stood shakily, nodding. "Fine. For the kids." Without another word, she went upstairs to pack her things, emerging later with boxes and bags. We watched as she carried them down to the basement, her footsteps heavy on the stairs. She didn't argue, didn't fight—just swallowed the pain, her shoulders hunched in defeat. By evening, the master closet had space cleared for Emily's wardrobe, and Sarah's new "room" was set up below us, the thin ceiling all that separated her from our world.

Emily moved in the next day, her apartment emptied in a single afternoon. Boxes of her clothes—sexy dresses, lingerie, yoga pants that hugged her ass—filled the house. She claimed drawers, hung pictures, even rearranged the kitchen to her liking. The kids were thrilled, hugging her and chattering about "family movie nights with Emily forever." Sarah watched from the sidelines, her eyes downcast, saying little.

True to her word, Emily started her morning ritual immediately. The first day, I woke to the feel of her warm mouth enveloping my cock, her tongue swirling around the head as she took me deep. Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a glow on her naked body—her full breasts pressed against my thighs, her ass up in the air as she worked me with expert precision. "Good morning, baby," she murmured between licks, her green eyes sparkling. She sucked me slow at first, building the tension, then faster, her hand stroking what her mouth couldn't reach. I gripped the sheets—Sarah's old sheets, now ours—moaning her name as I came down her throat. She swallowed every drop, licking her lips with a satisfied grin. "See? Happier already."

It became our routine. Every morning, without fail, she'd wake me with her mouth—sometimes gentle and teasing, other times deepthroating me with urgency, her gags muffled against my skin. I'd thrust into her mouth, holding her hair, fucking her face until release. Knowing Sarah was right below us, probably hearing the bed shift, my groans, Emily's slurping sounds—it added an edge that made it even hotter. Emily would moan around my cock, deliberately loud, as if performing for an audience of one.

The effects were immediate. I went to work energized, focused, my mind clear of the domestic fog that had plagued me during the end with Sarah. Ideas flowed, meetings went smoothly. Within a month, I nailed a big presentation, impressing the bosses with innovative strategies I'd brainstormed post-orgasm. The promotion came swiftly: senior director, with a hefty pay raise—twenty percent bump, plus bonuses. I celebrated by taking Emily out to a fancy dinner, her in a slinky black dress that turned heads, me unable to keep my hands off her under the table.

With the extra money, I spoiled her rotten. Designer handbags from Louis Vuitton, diamond earrings that sparkled against her wavy hair, lingerie sets from Agent Provocateur that accentuated her curves. We'd shop together, her trying on outfits in the dressing room, emerging to model for me—tops that strained over her F-cups, skirts that hugged her ass. I'd fuck her right there sometimes, quick and dirty against the mirror, her moans echoing in the small space. At home, she'd parade in her new gifts, thanking me on her knees with another blowjob, her green eyes full of adoration.

Sarah got nothing. Not a dime of the raise went her way. She still lived in the basement, emerging like a ghost to interact with the kids, but Emily had fully usurped her role. Sarah cooked sometimes, but Emily's meals were the favorites. Sarah tried reading bedtime stories, but the kids begged for Emily's voices. We barely spoke to her beyond necessities—Emily's cold politeness, my indifferent nods. I'd catch Sarah listening at the basement door sometimes, tears in her eyes as she heard us upstairs: Emily's screams of pleasure, my grunts, the rhythmic thump of the bedframe. She swallowed it all, her spirit broken, staying only for glimpses of the kids.

Our love deepened amid the spoils. Emily wasn't just a fling anymore; she was my partner, my confidante. We'd talk for hours after sex, her head on my chest, planning trips—Paris for her birthday, funded by my bonus. She'd whisper how much she loved me, how she'd do anything to keep me happy. And I believed her. The mornings continued—her mouth on me like clockwork, starting my days with bliss. The promotion led to more responsibility, but with Emily's "motivation," I thrived. We hosted parties, her charming the guests with her beauty and wit, while Sarah stayed downstairs, invisible.

One night, after a particularly intense session—me taking her from behind on the balcony, her breasts bouncing in the moonlight—she turned to me, breathless. "I love you, David. This life... it's perfect."

"I love you too," I replied, meaning it. Sarah was a faded memory, a shadow below us. Emily was my future—vibrant, devious, insatiable. And as we fell asleep, her body entwined with mine, I knew we'd only grow stronger, our bond forged in the ruins of what came before.