Misadventures in Babysitting

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Author’s Notes: This is an unconventional sexual situation story, but one that many people probably daydream about – the student and teacher. In this story the relationship is consensual, and the partners are eighteen or older.

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My boyfriend Rick and I were supposed to be going out for our one-month anniversary. Dinner, and after-dinner fun, had been planned.

If you had told me I was going to end up babysitting, and then what was going to happen after, I would have never believed you.


After my first week of college, I was ready for a welcome break from the lectures and the studying and the ridiculous amount of reading. Going to a semi-fancy restaurant with my boyfriend (and then heading to his place for some physical entertainment) was just the ticket. I was about to hop in the shower when Rick called and cancelled. “I got called in to work, and it’s time and a half, plus the third shift bonus. I can’t give that up.”

“But when are we supposed to go out? You’ll be sleeping all day tomorrow, and then it’ll be Monday.”

“Babe, it’s major bucks! Thirty-five an hour! When we go out, I’ll be able to afford that French restaurant you wanted to go to. That’ll be cool, right?”

I’d grudgingly agreed, and then resolved that if I was going to be without a date on a Saturday night, I might as well enjoy myself.

“Taking a shower,” I mutter to my roommate Val, and then head for the bathroom. Val lifts her hand in a wave. “See you in an hour,” she says.

Val knows me pretty good. Although an hour is a little bit of an exaggeration.

I undress in the bathroom, tossing my clothes in the hamper, then face the mirror. I study my breasts, and as always I’m vaguely surprised they are mine. I have broad shoulders and I don’t typically wear form-fitting shirts, so the D-size boobs aren’t always obvious. Until I undress. I cradle the mounds of flesh in my hands, rubbing my thumbs over my already-erect nipples. “Your loss, Rick,” I murmur, pinching the nipples and twisting them, watching the surrounding skin pucker.

With a sigh, I move to the shower and turn on the water, adjusting the cold and hot spigots until I get the temperature perfect. I step inside and relax under the stream. I wash my hair and do the necessary soaping with my bath poof, and rinse off. Then I unhook the shower head from the wall, extending it on its hose, and rotate the setting to “Vibrate and Massage.”

I aim the spray up my ass first. If I position it just right, with the pounding spray and the vibrating shower head, it’s like a super-erotic bidet. Okay, a little weird, but don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it. I have the cleanest ass in town, and I have fun in the process. Plus, it’s a necessary step. Foreplay, if you will.

It’s not long before I’ve had all I can stand in the rear, and my body is calling for the next step. I move the shower head to the main attraction. I open my legs and place the shower head in between, patiently adjusting it until I can feel the jets of water repeatedly slamming against my clit. I close my legs around the shower head to keep it in position, and lean against the shower wall.

The mix of the vibrating shower head and the massaging spray of water makes my breathing quicken. I duck my head and watch the water swirling around my feet. My body jerks and bends as I can feel the sensation grow, and I back off, changing the position of the shower head to prolong the edging.

After a few more minutes of edging I know I won’t be able to wait much longer. My body suddenly seems too big for the shower, too big for the bathroom. I pant and groan and pound on the shower wall, and just before the orgasm hits I grab the spigot on the “hot” tap and turn it up. I press my face into the wall and moan with the painful pleasure that makes my body shudder. My lips are pressed against my teeth as I hold my face against the wet shower wall. I wiggle and twitch and grab at my breasts, and the bottle of shampoo falls off the shower rack and hits the tub floor with a thump.

Just as I begin to feel the orgasm fade, I grasp the “cold” spigot and twist it. Cold water slams between my legs, and instead of fading, my orgasm increases. I can’t stop the cries of absolute pleasure. “Oh oh oh oh God oh OH OH. . . ” My head is swimming, my eyes are squeezed shut, and I can taste blood in my mouth, from my bruised lips.

I am talented, that’s for sure.

This time when the orgasm starts to fade I quickly turn off the shower. I stand, partially bent, water dripping off of me, as my vag clenches and twinges. I moan softly and rub my hand over my mouth, looking distractedly at the blood.

“Did you drown in there?”

Val’s question has an obvious tinge of amusement. It’s not like she didn’t know exactly what I was doing. She’s done it herself, although I know she doesn’t range the temperature like I do.

But I don’t have as many toys as Val. She was the one who’d accompanied me to our local sex “boutique” when I üsküdar escort turned eighteen, pointing out recommendations and personal favorites. When I’d approached the counter with my choices (Climaxx Cream and a multi-speed forked vibrator), Val had taken them from my hands and purchased them herself, saying they were birthday gifts. I had initially protested, as she’d already given me a gift, but I soon realized that Val had so many punches on her loyalty card, she was able to buy my selections at half-price.

I hadn’t even known “Naugh T. Normal” had loyalty cards.

I dry off, rub the towel over my hair, and grab my robe off the hook. I’m still loosely tying the sash when Val speaks again. “Did you hear the phone ring when you were in there?”

I open the bathroom door and peep out. “Rick?” I ask, daring to hope.

“No, your mom. Hey, is your mouth bleeding?”

I look in the mirror. Because I’d turned the water cold, it’s not too steamed up. I pull out my lip and look at the bloody inside, the part that had pushed against my teeth when I’d pressed my face up against the shower wall. I spit into the sink, then grab a Dixie Cup and fill it with water, which I sip and then swish around in my mouth. I spit a few more times until there’s barely any pink in the sink.

“What did my mom want?”

“She wants you to call back. But get this – she wants you take a babysitting job!”

“You’re kidding.” Once I got my license and could drive, I’d gotten a job waitressing at a local country-themed restaurant. The hours were flexible, the tips were good, and I got half-price (and sometimes free) food when I was working. I hadn’t babysat since I was fourteen, maybe fifteen.

Babysitting is a kid’s job.

I call my mom back to tell her that. “Val said you aren’t doing anything this evening,” my mom argues.

I’ll have to remember to thank Val for that.

“Yeah, maybe not, but babysitting? C’mon, Mom!”

“You haven’t even asked who it’s for.”

“Why would that make a difference?” I ask. “Is it some millionaire or something?”

“It’s for Joe Finney.”

Joe – Mr. Finney – is a stone fox. He had been one of my middle school teachers. He also used to live two houses down from the house where I grew up, but now he has a place on the other side of town. He still owns the house on my mom’s block, only now he’s the landlord, and rents it out. So she still sees him from time to time, when he comes over to mow the lawn or shovel after a snowfall. Now that I’ve moved out and rent a small house (with Val) near campus, I don’t really see Mr. Finney anymore.

When Mr. Finney lived on our block I would babysit for his son. I was just thirteen, and his son was eight. Not much of an age difference, but they didn’t want him staying home alone, especially at night – I was usually the “date night” babysitter. Mr. and Mrs. Finney had a lot of date nights. The “dates” were supposed to help their rocky marriage, but a lot of times when they came home from the dates, they were arguing. They separated the next year, and divorced shortly after. Mrs. Finney took their son and went to live with her sister. Mr. Finney stayed in the house alone . . . but not for long. Like I said, he’s a catch. Maybe a year after the divorce he was remarried, to a woman a lot prettier – and younger – than his wife had been, and they moved across town. They have a little boy, not quite two years old.

It was rumored that the separation and eventual divorce was precipitated by Mr. Finney’s inability to keep his dick in his pants. His quick relationship and marriage to Miss Young and Pretty seemed to validate this. But as Mr. Finney was well-liked in the school and the community, the rumors didn’t hold much strength. And as time went on, the blame for the break-up shifted to the former Mrs. Finney, and her possible infidelity. Since she had moved away, she was unable to prove her innocence.

Mr. Finney teaches history at the middle school, and most of the girls in his class crush on him hard – with good reason. When I was in his class the other girls were insanely jealous of me, because not only did Mr. Finney live on my street, but I had been IN HIS HOUSE. I’d shrugged it off, telling them Mr. Finney was just a family friend. Plus, he was old. Like almost thirty.

“Doesn’t he have a regular babysitter?” I ask my mother now.

“She’s sick. Lynn, he sounded pretty desperate. It’s his wife’s birthday, and he has tickets to take her to that dinner show place. Please, Lynn, help him out, would you?”

Val is close by, listening. “Who needs a babysitter?” she whispers. “Mr. Finney,” I whisper back. Val’s eyes widen and she nods approvingly.

Louder, I tell my mom, “I don’t even have a car. You know it’s in the shop for the alternator.”

Val speaks up, loud enough so my mom can hear. “I can drop her off on my way to work, Mrs. Caslin!”

After I hang up the phone I go into my room to get dressed, grumbling all the way. Val follows me. “You yenibosna escort think Mr. Finney can run you home?”

I go into my closet, let my robe fall to the floor, and grab a pair of sweatpants off the shelf. As I pull them on over my bare ass, I answer, “I guess so. I’m not worried about it. I’ll find a ride.” I poke my head out of my closet. “Throw me a bra, will ya?”

Val digs around in my drawer and pulls out a black lace bra. She holds it up with a mischievous grin. “I bet Mr. Finney would like this one!”


The new Mrs. Finney is pretty nice. She falls all over herself thanking me for helping them out on short notice, tells me I can have whatever I want out of their fridge, and promises they will pay me well when they return. Mr. Finney seems distracted – he smiles at me, asks me how my mom is, and then is rushing his wife out the door. I hold little Quentin (God, what a name) and we wave at them as they back out of the driveway.

The kid is simple enough to handle. He doesn’t seem to have any “stranger danger,” at least with me. He’d already had supper (SpaghettiOs) before I got there, and we play puppets and blocks and watch some little kid videos on YouTube. I put him down with a bottle (“just water, no juice or milk” Mrs. Finney had directed) and he drops right off to sleep. Then I sit on the couch and flip through the TV channels, occasionally checking my phone for a text from Rick. I also text Val at work. She works the late shift as a desk clerk in a resort hotel, and when there’s nothing going on she gets bored and plays with her phone. She also likes to let me know when something exciting happens, like when they have to call the cops either for a drunk guest, a domestic dispute in a room, or if they have to kick someone out. Val texts back that it is pretty quiet tonight, and says she might get off early.

I’m dozing when Mr. and Mrs. Finney get back at ten-thirty. Mrs. Finney goes right to check on Quentin, and when she comes back into the living room I sense some tension between the husband and wife. Oh God, not again.

Mrs. Finney gives me twenty-five bucks from her purse (I guess that’s not too bad for a couple hours, the kid was pretty easy) and then nods at Mr. Finney. “Joe will run you home.”

“That’s okay, I can call an Uber,” I offer.

“Nonsense,” she replies, then looks pointedly at Mr. Finney. “He needs to stop at the store anyway.” Mrs. Finney grabs a piece of paper off the counter, and shoves it at Mr. Finney. “Joe,” she says sharply.

Just before Mr. Finney swipes the list from his wife, I read a few things on it. Diapers, bread, tampons. I grimace.

“And make sure you get the right size diapers. I don’t care how many stores you have to go to.”

I almost get the idea that the new Mrs. Finney is trying to get rid of Mr. Finney.


Mr. Finney is pretty quiet in the car. I don’t really know what to say, either.

“How was the dinner show?”

“Oh, it was fine.”

He doesn’t say anything more than that, and I nod awkwardly. “That’s good.”

We’re almost to my house when Mr. Finney looks at me and abruptly asks, “How old are you now, Lynn?”

“Eighteen. I graduated in May.”

“Wow. I wondered, when I called your mother. The last time I saw you was what, a year ago? I came over to get the rent from my tenants, and you were out mowing.”

I blush at the memory. That was late last summer, when I still lived at home. I had been out in my yard work clothes – old cut off jean shorts, and no bra under a baggy tee-shirt. I had been sweaty and grungy, and then perfect clean-cut Mr. Finney had driven up.

“Uh, yeah. That was embarrassing.”

Mr. Finney chuckles. He pulls up in front of my and Val’s small house. “You two rent this from Sam Peyton, right?”

“Yeah, he’s a pretty cool landlord.” I put my hand on the handle and am ready to open the door, when Mr. Finney drops his hand on my knee. I think it’s just to stop me, but the touch sends an unexpected shock through me. I freeze, then turn back. Mr. Finney is looking at me hard, almost through me.

“If you have any problems with Sam, if he doesn’t keep up the place or if he gets heavy-handed asking for the rent, you just tell me.” Mr. Finney’s hand is still on my knee, and he’s softly squeezing it. “I’ll talk to him, make sure stays cool.”

“O…kay. Thanks.” I open the car door, and Mr. Finney takes his hand off my knee. He smiles at me, and I suddenly realize that even though I’ve gotten older, he still looks the same as he did when I was in middle school. Like I aged and he didn’t.

He doesn’t seem that much older than me now.

But he’s got both hands on the steering wheel again, and he bids me good-bye as I exit the car and head for my door. He stays parked at the curb until he sees me enter the house. Then with a wave he drives away.

I close the front door and lean against it, my heart pounding.

Did Mr. Finney just make a pass at me?


I zeytinburnu escort get a diet soda out of the fridge and go to the living room, to kick off my tennies and curl up on the couch. I grab the remote and try to look for something interesting to watch, something that will take my mind off the tingle in my spine, the feeling on my knee where Mr. Finney had placed his large, warm hand. I sip my soda and get lost in my thoughts.

I’ve been sitting for maybe five minutes when there’s a knock at my door. It’s followed by a voice. “Lynn? It’s Mr. Finney. Can you come to the door?”

I turn off the TV and jump off the couch. I have to force myself to walk at a normal pace to the door. I turn on the outside light, then peer through the peep hole. “Mr. Finney?”

I open the door and look bemusedly at him.

He’s standing on the stoop looking lost, holding a dark phone in his hand. “My damn car broke down, and I can’t even call Junie because my phone’s out of juice. Can I use your phone?”

“Uh, sure.” I turn away from the door and back to the living room, scooping up my phone from the couch. I hear the door shut but I don’t really register it until I turn to take Mr. Finney my phone, and see him standing right in front of me.

“Lynn, do you know how beautiful you are?”

Mr. Finney takes the phone from my hand and tosses it back on the couch. I look at the phone, then back at Mr. Finney. I can feel my heart beating in my throat, and I can hear it in my ears. My stomach is churning with butterflies. My skin feels hot.

His closeness is both alarming and exciting.

“Mr. F-Finney – “

“Joe. I haven’t been your teacher for years. Call me Joe.” He reaches out to touch my hair, and tucks a strand behind my ear. I shudder and blink, and he smiles.

“Joe.” I inhale, trying to catch my breath. “Joe, what – what are you doing?”

The smile is now a sly grin. “I thought it was obvious.” He leans forward and nuzzles my neck, dotting it with quick kisses. “Oh, God, you’re so sweet. So young and sweet.”

I should slap his face. I should threaten to call his wife. But his husky voice intoxicates me, and my hand comes up automatically to cradle his head.

After a few moments of enjoying his fervid kisses I step back guiltily, shaking my head. “Mr. – Joe. You’re married.”

He scoffs, then regards me mildly. “Out of all the girls in class, all the ones who hit on me when you were there, all the ones that still hit on me. . . You never did. Do you know how sexy that made you?”

No, I couldn’t flirt with him or tease him in front of the other girls, when I had told them I didn’t see him that way. When they all thought I was taking the high road.

And now my mind is in the gutter.

I shake my head again, wondering how long I’d been on Mr. Finney’s radar. He seems to predict my question.

“Ever since you came to babysit for J.J., I couldn’t get you out of my mind. So many years, watching you from afar, fantasizing, waiting. . .”

Wait. He’d fantasized about me?

“Quentin’s babysitter being sick today was a Godsend,” he finishes. “It brought you to me.”

Before I know what’s happening, I’m sitting on the couch with Joe kneeling before me. He leans in, his arms on either side of me, so close I can see the flecks of green in his hazel eyes.

His beautiful hazel eyes. His finely crafted nose. His partially open lips, just begging to be kissed and nibbled and bit.

My body seems to work of its own accord. I reach for Joe’s shirt collar, pull him closer to me, and meet my lips to his. I can feel his mouth curl in a smile. His arms move so they are now on my shoulders, then running up and down my arms.

My whole body is trembling. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe Joe Finney wants me. I break the kiss, panting, and as we part he looks quickly around the room. “Are we alone?”

I nod. “Val’s still at work.”

“Mmm.” Joe leans back on his haunches. “That’s too bad.” For a millisecond my heart plummets, until he continues. “We could’ve had some fun with Val. But I guess it’ll just have to be you and me.” Then he pulls off his shirt in such a quick motion, it gives me the mental image of buttons flying across the room.

I look at Joe’s naked torso, and I lose my shit.

His chest and abs are stunning. I had thought Rick looked nice, but Joe Finney is sculpted like a God. How could I have not known this? I reach for him and run my hands over his defined pecs, my fingers thrilling in the feel of his chest hair. I trace the outline of the muscles in his six-pack. He grabs one of my hands and kisses it. Then, with that same sly grin as before, he says, “I showed you mine. Time for you to return the favor.” He reaches for my tee-shirt and lifts it over my head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside like he had tossed aside my phone. I’m sitting before him in my black lace bra, and I’m suddenly very, very, happy Val had given me that bra earlier.

My hands go to my chest, to cross in front of my breasts in an attempt at modesty. Joe gently pulls my hands away, and his breath catches in his throat. “God damn, Lynn,” he murmurs.

I feel my face grow warm. . . And I’m suddenly very aware that I have no panties on under my sweatpants. Because I am feeling noticeably warm down there as well. I shift slightly on the couch, and feel wetness between my thighs.

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