Chapter 1: Christie's Great Discovery
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft, Ma/ft, ft/ft, Fa/ft, Mult, Teenagers, Consensual, Incest, Father, Daughter, First, Oral Sex, Masturbation, Babysitter, School, Prostitution, .
Desc: Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 1: Christie's Great Discovery - A group of high school freshmen graduate from babysitting to a sexier, more lucrative way of earning pocket money. They rock their school and their neighborhood, taking control of their lives in the process.
High School Hookers. It was totally my idea. I mean, Kitten thought of the name, and Summer handles the money, and Jasmine knows about leather and all that kinky shit. But I was the one who figured out we could make a lot more money and have a lot more fun selling sex than babysitting.
Old guys love young pussy.
I'm Candi. That's what I tell my clients. My real name is Christie Crumb. Kitten is Holly Harbison, my best friend. Summer is Robyn Reich, the class mathlete and tennis champ, and Jasmine is Teri Takemitsu, aka The Twinkie Princess, who has more clothes in her closet than the Duchess of Windsor. We're ninth-graders at Llewdwynne High School, and until this year we ran a babysitting business out of my bedroom. We still have the business, except now we turn tricks.
The service kind of grew naturally out of the babysitting. It really started during the summer, after the four of us graduated from middle school. I'd been babysitting off and on for Dr. Adams and his hot-shit trophy wife, who live in a beautiful Queen Anne house on Church Road, down the hill a couple blocks from me. It's the oldest house in the neighborhood, built long before the little ranch I live in with my mom and my older brother, back when people in Llewdwynne had money and horses. It's got a witch's-hat turret on the left, when you look at it from the road, and a rounded porch with cutout patterns under the railing. The walls are painted cream, and the trim is raspberry. Out front is a gray stone wall out front with an iron gate, instead of a fence. There's no sidewalk, because the road's been widened over the years, and the gate stands right up on the shoulder. Mom says Dr. Adams must have spent a fortune fixing the place up.
I've had a crush on Dr. Adams ever since I started looking after his daughter. He's hardly taller than I am, but he's trim from running marathons, with a deep-lined face and black hair that's turning gray at the temples. My dad was a doctor, too. He ran off with a nurse when I was two, and we never saw him again. Mom threw out all his pictures, so I don't remember what he looks like, but I like to think he'd look like Dr. Adams now.
Anyway, it was a muggy evening in the middle of August, and I got caught in a downpour on my way to the Adamses' house. I kicked off my flip-flops and carried them, running barefoot down the hill and across Church. Like I said, there's no sidewalk, just the gutter along the side of the road, which was already full of rushing water. I ran downhill, splashing along past the last three or four houses with the current swirling around my ankles. I was wearing a white cotton sundress, and by the time I reached their front gate it was clinging to my body like plastic wrap. It was as clear as plastic wrap, too.
I thumped up on the porch and knocked hard on the double oak doors. Mrs. Adams answered.
"You poor thing!" she exclaimed. "You're soaked to the skin."
But when I tried to come in, she stopped me by putting her hand flat against my chest.
"Go around the back," she said. "We can't have you dripping on the carpet."
So I went out into the rain again, splashing through the puddles by the side of the house. The wind was cold in my face. I couldn't see where I was going, and my foot went right into a fucking gopher hole. I sank in up to my knee, and when I climbed out, my skirt and my leg were plastered with mud and grass clippings. My ankle hurt like hell. I was lucky I didn't break it.
Mrs. Adams is such a cunt.
The doctor was waiting for me at the kitchen door with a smile and a fluffy red towel. He was dressed up in a light summer suit, with a blue silk shirt and a yellow tie. He looked scrumptious. My heart always skipped a beat whenever I saw him, but this time something else happened, too — a tight throb in my crotch. I was super self-conscious about the way my dress was stuck to my legs and stomach, and especially the way my nipples were poking out. I might as well have been standing in front of him stark naked. I mean, he was a doctor and all — an ob-gyn, no less — and he'd probably seen hundreds of girls my age without their clothes on, but I still thought I should have worn a bra.
I was drying my hair when I heard Mrs. Adams say, "Aidan, stop ogling the help."
I peeped out from under the towel just in time to see Dr. Adams glance away. He was grinning, and he had a gleam in his eye that made my crotch throb again. Mrs. A. was standing in the archway to the dining room. She was beautiful, in an icy sort of way. Her hair was pale, like straw, and tonight she'd pulled it back tight into a bun, so it sat on her head like a thin blonde shell. Her cheekbones could cut glass. She had on this slinky blue gown and gold sling-backs with heels like needles. I couldn't see a panty line. She wasn't wearing a bra, either. Her tits were small like mine, but not as firm — ha, ha — and they jiggled as she hung a pair of diamond pendants from her ears.
"Go upstairs and get her one of my robes," she told her husband, and when he slipped past her, she said to me, "Get out of those wet things ... No need to be shy."
Hiding behind the towel, I peeled off my wet dress and dropped it in the puddle I'd made on her spotless kitchen floor.
"What about your panties?" she said.
They were soaked, too, and riding up my ass, so I added them to the pile.
Then I wiped down my tits and my butt and my legs and feet. Suddenly, I missed my flip-flops. I must have dropped them when I fell and forgot to pick them up.
Mrs. A. looked at me with what I thought was appreciation.
"You're getting very pretty," she said.
"Thanks," I said.
"I remember when you started sitting Aoife, you didn't have anything up top."
Right on cue, the brat ran into the kitchen and threw her arms around me.
"Christie!" she squealed.
Aoife was a five-year-old bundle of energy, blonde like her mother and naked like me. This was a new thing for her: all summer she'd been running around the house without her clothes on. Her dad said it was a phase and didn't do any harm. Her mother didn't give a shit.
"Are you gonna be naked, too?" she said. She was so warm and soft.
"Christie got caught in the rain," her mother explained.
A draft chilled my bare back, and I shot off a mammoth sneeze.
"Bless you," Dr. Adams said from the dining room.
"Don't come in here," the ice-queen warned him, clapping her hand to his chest, the way she did with me.
I only caught a glimpse of him, and I don't know if he saw me. His hand came through the archway, holding a white wad of terrycloth. Mrs. A. snatched it from him and held it out to me.
"Wear this," she said.
It wasn't one of hers. It was one of his, big and roomy with the monogram "AA" in blue on one big cuff. It smelled like his cologne, too. When I slipped my arms through the sleeves, I imagined he was wrapping his arms around my naked body.
"Couldn't you find one of mine?" Mrs. A. said.
"Yours are all in the hamper," he replied.
"I have two clean ones in the wardrobe."
"I didn't see them."
"They were right there, on the left-hand side," she said. "You can't find anything."
It's tricky to put on a robe while holding a towel in front of you, so nothing shows, but it's one of those skills a girl has to learn for the beach or the locker room. But doing it with a child hanging off of you is not something you can prepare for. I tied the robe with Aoife inside, and then I pulled the towel out past my throat. She wiggled out, laughing, and I was able to tighten the belt all the way. Mrs. A. let the doctor back in the kitchen. Aoife ran over to him. He patted her head, and when his wife wasn't looking, he ran his hand down her back and cupped her bare bottom. My crotch throbbed some more. I couldn't help it.
"Wipe up the floor," Mrs. A. said.
"Darling!" Dr. Adams said.
"It's her mess. Let her clean it up."
I got down on my hands and knees and wiped up the puddle with the red towel.
"You can put your clothes in the dryer," she said.
"She should wash them first," Dr. Adams said. "The dress is all muddy."
"Whatever," she said. "Let's go get your little ego boost."
"What's that?" I asked.
"He's getting an award from the gynecologist's association."
"We call it the Golden Hymen," Dr. Adams said.
"And they always do it in the summer, so nobody's there, and they don't have to spend money on food."
She turned on her heel and disappeared through the archway. That was when I saw her gown was backless. She's hot — I'll give her that. She's got zero body fat.
Little naked Aoife followed me down the basement, where I put my clothes and the towel into the washing machine and turned the dial to "small-load" button.
When we came back upstairs, the Adamses were halfway out the back door. He had on a trim-looking trench coat, and he was carrying a long black umbrella. She had a clutch purse that matched her dress, and an open-knit shawl around her shoulders.
"It's stopped raining," he said.
"If you had waited ten more minutes, you wouldn't have gotten soaked," she said.
"You said you wanted me here at six-thirty," I said.
"Then you should have come earlier."
"She didn't know it was going to rain," Dr. Adams said.
"It's been threatening to rain all afternoon," she said. "Aoife, bedtime for you is eight o'clock. And put something on for Christie."
"Suit yourself," her mother said. "I tried."
She and Dr. Adams went off arm in arm to the garage, which was really the old carriage house. He tapped the stone walk with his umbrella, like an English gentleman, each time he took a step. I waited until they were out of sight before I shut the door.
"Well, squirt, what do you want to do?" I asked Aoife.
"Did you bring any games?"
She meant the "activity box," which was an idea my friends and I had when we started babysitting. We always brought a box of coloring books and puzzles and shit with us to keep the kids busy. It was sort of a selling point for the parents, to show them we had initiative, but lately we'd been getting bored with it.
"No, I left that home," I said. "Listen, my heinie is still cold from the rain. Wanna take hot bath with me?"
"I mean we're already undressed."
We went upstairs to the bathroom. I filled the old claw-foot tub with hot water and poured in a lot of bubble bath from a bottle that looked like the Little Mermaid. I swished the water around, and in a couple of minutes we had a huge cloud of suds.
Aoife jumped in and vanished.
"Oh, dear, where did she go? I've lost Aoife! Oh no! She went down the drain! What will I tell her mom?"
"I'm in here!" she giggled.
"In where?" I said.
"I'm in the bathtub!" she said.
"No you're not! I don't see you."
She jumped up, covered with bubbles.
"There you are!"
"Come on!" she said.
"Oh, all right."
She watched me eagerly as I took off her father's robe and laid it on the toilet tank. I'd given her plenty of baths ever since she was an infant, but she had never seen me naked before today.
I stepped into the hot water and settled my bare butt into the water. It was the perfect temperature. The soothing suds swallowed me up. I was starting to relax when Aoife jumped on top of me.
"You have boobies!" she said. She squeezed them both, over and over. "They're like my mom's."
"Hey, come on," I said. I held her hands still over my little breasts. "Give me a minute."
She calmed down, and we lay still with our eyes closed. I put my arms around her, holding her soapy body on top of mine.
After a while, I groped around for the washcloth and wiped down her back and bottom. She took the cloth away from me and did my front — all of it, if you know what I mean.
"Will I get hair between my legs, too?" she said.
"Everybody does when they get older," I said. "You'll get titties, too. Here, stand up let me wash your vagina."
It was innocent fun — a couple of naked sisters splashing and playing together. When the water cooled off, I'd reheat it by letting some out and turning on the tap. We stayed in the tub until our fingers and toes were totally pruny and the gray light in the window was fading.
"I'll bet it's past your bedtime," I said.
I pulled plug chain with my toes. We got out while the water was draining, and I dried us both off. Aoife took a tinkle and brushed her teeth, and we went to her room. I tucked her in with her favorite stuffed bunny, read her a story and got her some water. By the time she finally settled down, it was almost eight-thirty.
"Are you sure you don't want your jammies, sweetie?"
"No, that's OK," she said.
"How come you go around naked all the time?"
"Me and my dad do it," she said.
"Your dad? What about your mom?"
"We do it when she's not home."
"What? What do you do?"
"Jus' stuff," she said. She was drifting off.
I kissed her on the forehead and went back to the bathroom. I was cool from the bath, and I thought I'd put the robe back on back on, but when I picked it up, I caught a whiff of the doctor's cologne again. I held the lapel to my nose and took a deep breath. The scent was spicy, like cloves and pine. It made my head spin.
I closed my eyes, clutching the robe to my tits and savoring the delicious way the terrycloth scratched my tender nipples. I rubbed the fragrant lapel against my cheek and pretended it was Dr. Adams' rough, stubbly face.
"Doctor, you smell wonderful," I whispered. "Mmmmm."
What was that throbbing in my crotch? It went away while Aoife and I were taking our bath, but it was back now with a vengeance. It was like a lead baseball in the pit of my stomach, but it itched, too, near the front of my pussy, where my lips come together. I couldn't ignore it anymore. Reaching under the dangling robe, I slipped a finger through the damp curls of my pubic hair.
What the hell? I was wet. And not water-wet, like from the rain or the bath. This stuff was oozing out my vagina, and it was slick, like my pussy was swimming in butter. It couldn't be my period. That was over for the month. It was scary, but it was kind of cool. It made it easier to slide my finger around, deep between my lips, and right up into my swollen donut hole.
I had never, ever felt anything like this before. I lost my breath. My face tingled, and my knees got weak. I had to lie down. I staggered out of the bathroom. It was hard to walk my finger in my hole and my thighs squeezed together, but I made it to the front bedroom by leaning into the oak railing that ran along the hall. It was twilight all through the house.
The Adamses had a big, queen-sized bed covered with a genuine Amish quilt. I fell on it face first, holding the robe to my nose and sliding my fingers way up the slimy wet folds of my swollen pussy. I rubbed and rubbed. I couldn't stop. I didn't want to. I never felt anything so good.
Kicking and squirming, but never taking my hand off my cunt, I inched my way to the head of the bed and pulled Dr. Adams's pillow from under the quilt. (I knew it was his, because his stuff was on the nightstand on that side.) I French-kissed the pillow and murmured Dr. Adams' name — his first name, Aidan. My tongue left the round wet spot in the middle of the pillow. Be good to me, Aidan, I told him. Make love to me. Kiss my breasts. Touch me, Aidan. Touch me THERE. And I pressed down on that amazing bump near the front of my slit.
I must have looked ridiculous — kissing a stupid pillow, pretending it was a guy, my bare ass sticking up in the air, one hand holding the robe under my body, rubbing it against my tits, while the other furiously lathered my cunt. But I was too hot to care.
Oh. Oh wow. I said the darling name again — Aidan — and that's when it happened. I mean, it fucking happened. It was like I wasn't in my own body anymore. Colors flashed in front of my eyes — green and gold and red and blue. I heard myself moan and sob and whimpering Yes! over and over. My face burned, and my heart beat so fast that I honestly thought I was going to pass out — but only for a second. The fear went away, and all that was left was the happy feeling that I had just made the greatest discovery of my life.
I slowed down, taking the pressure off that wonderful bump little by little. My arm was tired, and it was hard to keep it raised, so I tipped over on my side and lay there curled up like a baby, my cheek on the wet pillow. The Big Moment, whatever it was, was over, but it still felt good to hold myself between my legs. I was so happy, and so wrung out, that I didn't react at all when I opened my eyes and saw Aoife standing next to the bed.
"Watchya doin'?" she asked.
"Just feeling good," I said.
"You're touching yourself!"
"There's nothing wrong with that," I said. "With all the time you spend naked, don't you ever touch yourself?"
"Doesn't it feel good?"
"I don't know."
"Sure you do."
"Well, when you get older, it's going to feel fantastic."
"How come you said my dad's name?
"'Cause I like your dad."
She hugged her stuffed rabbit to her chest. She was so innocent, and she smelled so clean. I reached out and cupped her soft cheek in my hand.
"Can I sleep with you?" she asked.
"Just for a little bit. I'm not sure your mom would like that. And — oh, darn."
"I forgot to put my dress in the dryer."