My job with Marianne and Mark only lasted three months; then they suddenly relocated for six months to New York, taking Oliver with them. They said that they would contact me on their return and see if I were available to resume with Oliver. That was okay; at least I had some experience now.

I was also much more experienced in the art of sex; Mark, Oliver’s dad, had taught me the fine arts of bringing a man to the boil using my tongue. I had also discovered that men like anal sex, both giving and receiving with a finger. That had really surprised me. I had been pleased to discover that it wasn’t as ‘messy’ as I had expected. The trick was ‘emptying’ yourself at every opportunity.

I looked in the various au pair and nanny agency adverts and decided that a nanny position was now in my grasp; the au pair positions didn’t really pay and were aimed at foreigners. I didn’t find anything suitable in Bingley. There was a position in Bradford, but the family said that speaking Urdu would be preferred, and I didn’t speak Urdu. Schoolgirl French, yes; Urdu, no. I was also wise enough to realise that each job wouldn’t come with a father that expected me to have sex with him.

I was sitting at home, feeling a little despondent. I didn’t really want to move a long way from home to find a position; I wanted to be able to spend a day at home with Mum and Dad each week, and that would be difficult if I were living, for example, in London. I had a shower after I got up and hadn’t bothered getting dressed, just lying on my bed under a towel.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Dad said from my doorway, “are you okay?”

“Yes, Dad, just a bit fed up. That job with Oliver had been perfect, and there is nothing locally that I can do.” Dad came and sat on the edge of my bed.

“Oh, baby,” Dad said, running his hand on my leg through the towel. “Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

I could guess what he was hinting at. Dad and I had only shagged once, and that had been pretty vanilla. In the time I had been with Oliver, Oliver’s dad had shagged me many times and had taught me the beauties and varieties of oral sex. I hadn’t had any sex in over a month; perhaps Dad could help. Perhaps a good shagging would cheer me up.

I smiled at Dad and slipped the towel off me, revealing my nakedness. “Perhaps, Dad, what do you think?”

“Oh, baby, really?” Dad said.

“One of us is overdressed, Dad.”

Dad stood up and took his clothes off, standing at the end of my bed, his dick pushing forwards, aiming at me. “Your mum won’t be back for a couple of hours,” he said as he walked towards me.

“Lie on the bed, Dad,” I said, my eyes firmly on his dick.

Dad lay on his back, and I bent over him, my face at his crotch. I inhaled; Dad’s aroma was very masculine. It wasn’t scented with male perfume the way Mark, Oliver’s dad, had been. Dad just smelt of man, and it was intoxicating. I realised that I loved the smell of man.

I opened my mouth, wrapped a hand around Dad’s dick, pulled his foreskin back, and lowered my mouth, taking him into my throat.

We hadn’t done oral the only time that we had shagged, and I had only ever seen Dad shagging Mum on the few occasions that I had watched them, late at night, when they thought I was asleep. Dad was usually behind Mum as she was on her knees. Like dogs do it.

“Oh, fuck, Mica, what?” Dad gasped as I took him deep in my mouth.

I couldn’t reply; I had my mouth full, and Mum had always told me not to speak with my mouth full, although I doubted that she never expected my mouth to be full of her husband’s dick.

I eased his dick past my tonsils, through my throat, and into my oesophagus. I couldn’t breathe when I had a dick deep in my throat. I began to bob a little, my throat rubbing the end of his dick, and every third bob, I pulled back far enough to take a breath. The feel of Dad’s rim scraping through my throat just made my heart beat so fast.

I slipped a hand under Dad’s balls and pushed it along his perineum and pressed at his crinkle. Dad squirmed and started calling my name in a broken voice. I pressed harder, and his muscles gave way, and my finger entered. I waggled my finger, and I sucked on his dick; Dad was writhing from side to side. I mentally thanked Mark for teaching me this move.

“Oh, fuck,” Dad gasped and forced his dick hard down my throat. Spurt after spurt headed to my stomach, Dad gasping and squirming as his balls emptied themselves. I eased back and lay on the bed next to Dad. Dad’s chest was heaving; he was gulping in huge breaths of air, his fingers squeezing the bedding beneath us.

“My God, baby, where did you learn that?” Dad asked as his composure returned. I didn’t answer his question.

“Your turn now, Dad; you use your tongue on me.”

“But I’ve never...”

I interrupted him before he could finish. “You know what’s where; just be gentle, that works the best.”

I closed my eyes and let Dad get on with exploring my body. He wasn’t by any means proficient, and I barely reached orgasm, but I made sounds as if I did. I told Dad that he would have to practise on Mum, as well as me.

I had a text from one of the agencies; they had an opening in Bingley. Would I be interested? I looked across the details and said that yes, I would be, and when could I go to meet the child and the parents? They arranged a face-to-face meeting with the family at ten a.m. the following day.

Mark and Marrianne had allowed me to keep the uniforms that they had gotten for me, and I decided that I would wear one for the interview; my thinking was that it would look professional. Mum was at home, and she took me across and waited in the street outside.

I walked up to the door and pressed the doorbell. It was one of those video doorbells. A voice came over a speaker.

“Hello, who is it?”

“My name is Mica,” I said. “I am from the agency.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Wait a moment and I shall be with you.”

I stood waiting for perhaps a minute, and then the door opened. A woman with long black hair stood in the doorway. She looked at me and then smiled. “Come in,” she said, holding the door open. “I am Julianne.”

“The agency sent me your details. They were a little unclear as to why your previous posting ended.”

“The clients relocated to New York, and I have to be honest, I didn’t really want to accompany them, although that was an option. They did say that they wanted me to go back to them when they returned.”