Abbie had so meant to be good. She'd turned up on time at the Carsons' house, smiled sweetly at the two adorable children - and their harassed mother - and listened to the usual instructions. All house keys in the bowl, story for twenty minutes, bed by nine, open the door to Mr. Carson at ten, drive home. Easy. Super easy.
The first two parts had lived up to that estimation. The two little boys had been dead tired from the start, so Abbie had only had to read a quarter of My Red Truck before they were fast asleep. Normally it took at least half. Now... well. She had so meant to be good. It was just so much more fun to be bad. So, so much more fun to slip into Mr and Mrs Carson's bedroom, lock the door, stand in front of their full-length mirror, and slowly peel off her dress.
Her short, tight, altogether too-slutty-for-a-seventeen-year-old dress. Abbie was frankly surprised that Mrs Carson hadn't raised an eyebrow. However, off it came now, along with her bra, and even her white lace thong. Soon she was naked except for her thigh-high socks, admiring herself, loving the thrill of doing something so forbidden.
A photo of the Carson couple on the bedside table caught her eye momentarily. What a silver fox, Abbie thought, admiring the man's fierce grey eyes, his aura of power. It was a pity that Mrs Carson was as attractive as her husband. She had that fine-boned, exotic look that made Abbie tingle unexpectedly whenever she looked at her. Mr Carson would never look elsewhere. Or would he?
Abbie examined her reflection. If anyone has a shot, she thought, it's me. Some people look built for business, while every part of Abbie seemed built for the dirtiest kind of pleasure. Creamy skin, blonde curls, pillow lips - blowjob lips, she thought, licking them - and a bedroom body. Full, luscious D-cup breasts, soft, smooth, forever spilling out of low-cut tops. Pale pink nipples that anyone would beg to suck. A small waist that broadened out into wide hips, a firm heart-shaped ass, long, shapely legs - and most importantly a hot, needy cunt that had to be tended to multiple times a day.
"You're such a little slut," she murmured to her mirror image, "you can't even wait to get home before you play." She was already lightly tracing her hands over her body, softly rubbing her nipples, gasping as they hardened under her touch. She remembered Mr Jacobs catching her in the locker room after hockey practice, as she lay naked on a bench, frantically rubbing her greedy little clit. He'd called her something very similar. Dirty slut. Then Abbie's hands on her clit had been replaced with Mr Jacob's hot, wet tongue, and before long they'd been splayed across the locker room floor, fucking like two animals in heat. Hockey had been Abbie's favourite way of getting exercise after that. Well. Her second favourite.
"For an older man," she mused, beginning to pinch her nipples harder, loving the electric thrill each pinch sent through her body, "he sure had stamina." He'd been forceful, strong, no fumbling like the hapless teen boys Abbie had fooled around with before. He'd gripped her hips, bit her neck so hard he left marks. Fucked her so well, in fact, that her inner whore had been well and truly unleashed.
With one eye on Mr Carson's photograph, Abbie parted the smooth folds of her outer lips, lightly brushing her clit. She couldn't repress a soft, shuddering moan, and moved the other hand down to her aching, dripping cunt.
I bet you'd do me right, she said silently to the photograph, I bet you'd screw me so hard I'd forget my own name. She imagined his eyes boring into hers, his hands pinning hers to the bed. His cock deep, deep inside her. His voice telling her what a filthy little slut she really was.
A particularly intense shock of pleasure shot through Abbie's clit; her legs buckled slightly. This won't do, she thought, moving over to her bag. As she pulled the big, black vibrator from underneath piles of school papers, she smiled.
She'd only meant to be good for a little while. It was always sensible to be prepared.
The soft, cool sheets of Mr and Mrs Carson's bed felt amazing against her naked skin. Abbie arched her back, writhing slowly against the mattress, wanting to prolong her tingling turned-on state for as long as she could stand it. However, she was an impatient girl, and before long the vibrator was buzzing, pressed against one nipple, while Abbie pulled at the other until the pleasure bordered on pain.
"That's right Mr Carson," she moaned softly, "use me. Make me cum so hard I scream."
It's a damn good job I remembered my key today, Mr Carson thought as he opened the door of the house, or I'd be well and truly stuck. Where the hell is the babysitter?
He casually slung his briefcase onto a kitchen chair, loosened his tie. He'd had to fight to get away an hour early, but ultimately he was the boss - what was the point of power if you couldn't occasionally abuse it? His wife was having dinner with friends, and the drinks cabinet was calling him. A perfect evening of solitude.
Still. The house was eerily quiet. His wife had raved about this new babysitter, but Mr Carson had never managed to meet her. She'd shown him a photo though. Wow. The perfect counterpoint to Mrs Carson's dark eyes and athletic body. She's probably upstairs, Mr Carson thought, reading the boys a story or on the phone to her boyfriend. A girl who looks like that definitely has a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend. Or both.
The thought of that sexy blonde, pressing her ripe curves against another girl made Mr Carson hot under the collar. Not now, he thought, wait. Check the boys, send her home. Then think about those lips wrapped around your cock. He poured himself a glass of water, drank it in one gulp. Collected himself. He went upstairs quietly, and saw with one glance into the nursery that his two little boys were sleeping like angels. Closing the door gently, he looked into the other upstairs rooms with increasing irritation. Study, no. Bathroom, no. Bedroom - wait, what? His bedroom? Locked? What the hell what she up to?
It was then that Mr Carson heard moaning. Ever so soft, ever so faint, but unmistakably a woman moaning. And then,
"...yeah, that's right Mr Carson, fuck this cunt...fuck me like you mean it..."
Hardly believing his ears, Mr Carson stared at the door. Then, his cock hardening by the second, he slowly knelt down. Put his eye to the keyhole.
The babysitter, the hot little blonde who looked like butter wouldn't melt in that filthy mouth of hers, was stretched out across his bed - his marital bed - with her toned legs splayed, fucking her dripping wet pussy with what looked like a big black dildo, her juicy tits swaying with each thrust. Her eyes closed, her head thrown back in ecstasy.
Mr Carson licked his lips. Naughty little slut, he thought, smiling, one hand fumbling for his keys while the other began to stroke his aching cock. Let's give you what you deserve.
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