My Babysitter, Part 7

666Katherine

The months rolled on in a haze of domestic bliss twisted with forbidden edges, Emily's presence solidifying like cement in the cracks of our fractured family. She wasn't just living in the house now; she owned it, her laughter filling the rooms, her scent lingering on every surface. The kids adored her more each day, their little faces lighting up when she walked in, and I'd catch myself watching her with them—her long wavy hair swinging as she knelt to their level, her green eyes sparkling with that devious charm that made my cock twitch even in the most innocent moments. Sarah, meanwhile, faded further into the background, a ghost haunting the basement stairs. She'd emerge for meals or playtime, her eyes hollow, her small frame seeming even smaller next to Emily's voluptuous curves. The contrast was stark, arousing in a way I couldn't deny: Emily's F-cups straining against her tops, her ass filling out her jeans like a sculpted dream, while Sarah looked flat and defeated.

Emily's morning ritual evolved into something more elaborate, a daily symphony of seduction that set the tone for my days. She'd wake before me, slipping out of bed naked, her body glowing in the early light filtering through the curtains. I'd pretend to sleep, savoring the anticipation as she padded back from the bathroom, her hips swaying, breasts bouncing gently with each step. She'd crawl under the covers from the foot of the bed, her warm breath teasing my thighs before her full lips brushed my cock, already half-hard from dreams of her. "Good morning, my love," she'd whisper, her tongue flicking out to trace the underside, slow and deliberate, building the tension until I was throbbing. Some days, she'd take her time, licking from base to tip, swirling around the head like it was her favorite treat, her hand cupping my balls gently, massaging them as she hummed softly. The vibrations would send jolts through me, and I'd grip the sheets, groaning her name. Other mornings, when she was feeling playful, she'd deepthroat me right away, gagging slightly as she took me all in, her nose pressing against my pelvis, eyes watering but locked on mine when I finally opened them. I'd thrust up into her mouth, holding her head, fucking her face with controlled rhythm, the wet sounds echoing in the quiet room. Knowing Sarah was directly below us, the ceiling thin enough to carry every slurp, every moan—it amplified everything. Emily would make it louder on purpose, popping off to gasp dramatically, "Oh, David, you taste so good," before diving back in. I'd come explosively, flooding her mouth, and she'd swallow with a satisfied purr, licking her lips clean before climbing up to kiss me, her breasts pressing against my chest, nipples hard and begging for attention.

Those mornings fueled my workdays, the promotion's demands feeling effortless with her "motivation" lingering like an afterglow. But the real heat built in the evenings, when the house quieted and Emily's devious side emerged. She'd tease me throughout dinner, her foot sliding up my leg under the table, toes brushing my crotch while she chatted innocently with the kids. Sarah would sit there, picking at her food, her eyes darting away whenever Emily leaned forward, her cleavage on full display in a low-cut blouse. After the kids were tucked in—Emily handling bedtime now, her voice weaving stories that left them dreamy and content—we'd retreat to the living room, or the kitchen, or wherever the mood struck. One night, she cornered me in the pantry again, a callback to our early days, her body pressing against mine amid the shelves. "I've been wet all day thinking about you," she'd whisper, grinding her ass back against my hardening cock. I'd hike up her skirt, finding her thong soaked, and slide my fingers inside her, curling them to hit that spot that made her knees buckle. She'd moan into my neck, biting down to muffle the sound, her walls clenching around me as I finger-fucked her to a quick, shuddering orgasm. Then she'd turn, dropping to her knees on the cold tile, unzipping me and taking my cock in her mouth, sucking with urgent hunger until I came down her throat, her green eyes gleaming up at me in triumph.

But Emily's manipulations weren't confined to our private moments; she wove them into the fabric of daily life, especially with the kids. I didn't know about her secret lessons at first—they happened during playtime or snack breaks, when Sarah was downstairs or out running errands. Emily would sit with Mia and Jack on the living room rug, toys scattered around, her yoga pants hugging her curves as she leaned in close. "You know how much I love you two, right?" she'd say, her voice sweet and conspiratorial. "Like a mommy loves her kiddos." The kids would nod eagerly, Mia clutching a doll, Jack zooming a car across the floor. "So, what if you called me 'Mommy Em'? It'd be our special thing. And Mommy Sarah... well, she's just Sarah now, okay? Like a friend who visits." She'd practice with them, rewarding correct calls with hugs and candies, her laughter light but laced with that edge I knew so well. The kids, young and impressionable, soaked it up like sponges, thrilled by the game and Emily's affection.

The reveal came one Saturday afternoon, the sun streaming through the windows as we all gathered in the kitchen for lunch. Emily was at the stove, stirring pasta, her ass swaying in tight shorts that left little to the imagination. Sarah had come up from the basement to help set the table, her movements hesitant, her t-shirt loose over her flat chest. The kids burst in from the backyard, cheeks flushed from playing, and Mia ran straight to Emily, wrapping her arms around her legs. "I love you, Mommy Em!" she squealed, looking up with adoring eyes. Emily beamed, bending down to scoop her up, her breasts pressing against the girl's back as she hugged her tight. "I love you too, sweetie! You're my favorite little princess." Jack followed suit, tugging at Emily's shirt. "Mommy Em, can we have ice cream after?" Emily ruffled his hair, giggling. "Of course, buddy. Anything for you."

Sarah froze mid-motion, a plate in her hand, her face paling as the words hit her. The kids turned to her next, their expressions shifting to something cooler, almost indifferent. "Hi, Sarah," Mia said flatly, no hug, no smile. Jack echoed her, "Hi, Sarah," before scampering back to Emily's side, clinging to her leg. Sarah's lips parted, but no sound came out. Her eyes welled up, tears spilling over as she set the plate down with a clatter. The humiliation was raw, visible in the way her shoulders slumped, her small hands trembling. She glanced at me, searching for intervention, but I stayed silent, a twisted knot of arousal forming in my gut at Emily's clever cruelty. Sarah mumbled something about needing a minute and fled down the basement stairs, the door clicking shut behind her.

Emily watched her go, then turned to me with a sly giggle, covering her mouth like a schoolgirl caught in mischief. "Oops," she whispered, her eyes sparkling. "Did you hear that? 'Mommy Em.' Isn't it adorable?" She sauntered over, pressing her body against mine, her hand brushing my crotch discreetly. "Turns you on, doesn't it? Seeing her break a little more." I nodded, pulling her in for a quick, heated kiss, my cock stirring at the thought. The kids were oblivious, chattering about lunch, but Emily's giggle lingered in my ear, a soundtrack to Sarah's silent sobs below.

That night, with the kids asleep and Sarah sequestered downstairs, Emily rewarded me for my complicity. She led me to the bedroom, stripping slowly in the lamplight, her lingerie a new set I'd bought her—red lace that cupped her massive breasts, the thong framing her ass like a gift. "You were so good today, not saying a word," she purred, pushing me onto the bed and straddling me. Her hips ground down, her wetness soaking through my boxers as she rocked against my hardness. I reached up, freeing her breasts from the bra, sucking one nipple into my mouth, biting gently as she moaned. "Fuck, David, yes—suck them harder." Her hands fumbled with my waistband, freeing my cock, and she impaled herself on me with a gasp, her tight pussy enveloping me inch by inch. She rode me hard, her ass slapping against my thighs, breasts bouncing wildly as she threw her head back. "The kids are mine now," she gasped between thrusts. "And Sarah... she's nothing." The words pushed me closer, and I flipped her over, pounding into her from behind, gripping her hips as I drove deep. Her moans filled the room—deliberately loud, echoing through the vents to the basement below. "Yes, David! Fuck me like you own me!" I came with a roar, filling her, collapsing on top as she clenched around me, her own orgasm ripping through her.

The pattern continued, Emily's hold tightening. She'd escalate with the kids—teaching them songs about "Mommy Em" being the best, or having them draw pictures of our "new family" without Sarah in them. Sarah would see these, tacked to the fridge, and retreat downstairs to weep, her sobs faintly audible. Emily would giggle each time, pulling me aside for a quick grope or kiss, her devious joy infectious. Our sex grew more adventurous: in the shower, water cascading over her curves as I took her against the tile, her legs wrapped around me; or on the balcony at midnight, her bent over the railing, ass high as I thrust from behind, the night air cooling our sweat-slicked skin.

With my promotion secured and another raise on the horizon, I surprised Emily with a weekend getaway—a luxury cabin in the mountains. We left the kids with Sarah, who nodded numbly, her eyes averted. At the cabin, Emily was insatiable: fucking by the fireplace, her body arched over the rug as I licked her to multiple orgasms; in the hot tub, riding me under the stars, water splashing as her breasts floated buoyantly. "This is our life," she'd whisper, her green eyes intense. "No more Sarah in the way."

Back home, the dynamic solidified. Sarah became a fixture of quiet suffering, her role reduced to occasional helper while Emily reigned supreme. The kids' affection for "Mommy Em" grew, their coldness toward "Sarah" a daily ritual that left her weeping below. Emily's giggles became our private joke, fueling nights of passion where she'd role-play as the "perfect wife," her body yielding in ways Sarah never could. I was hooked, deeper than ever, the dark thrill of it all binding us tighter. What would Emily scheme next? I couldn't wait to find out, my life a tapestry of pleasure woven from the threads of betrayal.