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It Happened one Night 
by Jaime (no address provided)	

***

A single mother comes home from an office party early 
and unwittingly surprises the teenage babysitter 
frigging herself to cable porn. (Ff-teen, underage, 
voy)

***

Work parties are not my cup of tea. I'm not sure 
they're anyone's, so sometimes I wonder why they even 
exist. I don't really want to know any of the people I 
work with any better. As much as I'd like to be, I'm 
not a teenager anymore and neither are they. I already 
have friends, friends who never blow payroll 
deadlines. Maybe it's just me, but irritation is not 
the greatest foundation for friendship.

"This was great Jamie." Carl worked in the office next 
to mine. "I can't believe it, fun on the fifth floor!" 

Carl apparently didn't feel the same way I did, or he 
was drunk enough to forget it. He was right though, 
who would've thought that so much laughter could ring 
through the halls of a human resource office. I told 
Carl that it was, indeed great, and grabbed my jacket 
to leave.

My daughter, Jordan, was at home with the sitter. It 
looked like I would be early, but I'm sure she would 
be asleep anyway. At least I wouldn't have to pay Amy, 
the sitter, to watch anymore television. It certainly 
wasn't like she needed the money. I had a suspicion 
that her parents were paying her something on top of 
what I gave her. I think they wanted to do the right 
thing by forcing her to be responsible. Amy was 
already a dependable, if somewhat spoiled, young lady. 
But, hey, I'm sure I'll be doing the same thing as 
mine grows up.

Sure enough, when I opened the door I could see the 
faint glow of the TV from the back room. I shut the 
door quietly. I didn't want to wake the kid. I walked 
down the hallway, and the screen slowly came into view 
on which music videos were playing. The back of Amy's 
head was leaning against the couch, and her hair was 
draped over the back of it, like she might be asleep. 
But it looked like her right shoulder was moving up 
and down, too, and for a moment I thought she might 
actually be frigging herself.

"She's got cable, what's she doing?" was the actual 
first thing that I thought, even though I wasn't even 
sure what was going on. I completely doubted my 
initial impression. Still, it was enough for me to 
hold my tongue and walk a little more quietly.

I haven't written much since my second, and last, year 
of college. Still, whenever I'm trying to work 
something out, writing it down helps, most of the 
time, anyway, unless it gets too weird, which may be 
the case here and I think I'm rambling. 

I'd met Amy when she answered a neighborhood flyer I'd 
put on the community mailbox. I paid her to spend a 
night with me and Jordan just so I could see if she 
would be alright. We talked for a while about baby 
bottles and Disney videos, but the rest of the time we 
talked about high school and music. She was a cool 
girl who reminded me a little of myself ten years ago. 
After that, we always talked for half an hour or so 
after I got home, which had been about ten times 
before that night.

I had moved up to about five feet behind her. She had 
slipped down the couch a little bit, which was why I 
could see her jeans, totally undone. They had been 
pushed down a few inches from her waist, revealing her 
panties, the edges of which she was tracing with her 
fingers. 

I was flabbergasted and for some reason fixated on the 
yellow daisy print on the white of her underwear, the 
white of her underwear against her skin. It was almost 
romantic, the way she ran the tips of her fingers 
along the elastic. I spotted the faint line of her 
vulva when the cotton was drawn taut by her treatment. 
Worse, I actually dallied on it. 

As she began to massage the top of her panties with 
her palm, her legs stretched the waist of her pants. 
The last few teeth of the zipper came apart, making a 
soft click, which I could hear, for some reason, much 
better than the TV. It broke the tiny daze of mine, 
and my first inclination was to back away slowly and 
slam the front door and yell as a loudly as I could, 
"Amy, I'm home!" 

What I was seeing was too much and I didn't want to 
embarrass her, even though, I will admit now, I was 
amazed and even curious to find out just how far Amy 
would take herself.

I began to retreat at the exact moment, of course, 
that the TV went silent and I made a floorboard 
squeak. Amy flipped around and clumsily pulled up her 
jeans over her bottom. 

"I'm sorry, Amy, I just came home, how's Jordan?" I 
stumbled.

She was as flustered as I was and turned off the TV, 
rearranged some pillows, and picked up a schoolbook 
that was on the floor. She looked at the floor, "I'm 
sorry, Jaime, I was just watching TV. Jordan's 
sleeping, I better go home." She shuffled down the 
hallway and I told her to wait, I needed to pay her.

In all the time we had talked, only a few times did 
our conversation turn to sex. She'd had it with a few 
of boys and it shocked me that someone only seventeen 
had done it even once. Amy had asked me a couple of 
questions, mainly about getting as much as you're were 
giving, I guess you could say. It had felt awkward at 
first, as if I was betraying her parents, even though 
I'd only talked to them on the phone. Would they 
really want me giving their daughter tips? I 
eventually gave her some pointers which, in turn, she 
could point out to her boyfriend. It had been awhile 
since she'd approached the subject.

In the kitchen, as I groped my purse for cash, Amy 
stood there nervously. I could tell she was still 
feeling a little aroused. I was a little hot, too, 
because I'd never seen someone else do that. It had 
been a while since I'd seen anything remotely sexual 
at all. Eventually, I pulled some money from my bag, 
and handed it to her. She was still breathing heavily. 
Part of me was just amused, and I imagined what would 
happen if I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards 
me. It was a funny thought, but also one a pervert 
might have. 

After she put the money in her pocket, she kept 
standing there, quite still. It was here, I think, 
that things took a real turn. All of a sudden, I 
realized that the only thing she could've been 
indicating was that she didn't want to leave and if 
she didn't want to leave she wanted something else. 
Maybe she wanted to talk. That's what I told myself. 
Anything else would've been too odd, probably wrong, a 
lot more wrong than it seemed at the time. "Look Amy, 
it's alright, everybody does it." That sounded 
extremely lame.

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to..." she mumbled. I 
wondered what she was going to end the sentence with. 
Clean her clothes? Figure out her calculus homework. 
"It's alright, I understand," I repeated. The heavy 
atmosphere had lifted a bit, and it all seemed a 
little silly. It made me feel better, which was 
unfortunate, because I also felt more intrigued. She 
continued to stand there.

I moved toward her and took her by the soldiers to 
reassure her. My hands fell down her arms. Honestly, I 
was just trying to be playful. "It doesn't matter, we 
all do it." I fingered the top of her jeans, running 
my finger from her belly button down and back again, 
smiling comfortingly, attempting to make a joke out of 
it. 

Okay, okay, maybe this is the point where things took 
a turn. I hoped maybe she would laugh and walk home. 
It's totally crazy, but I also wasn't opposed to her 
not, though I'm not sure what I was anticipating 
otherwise. She did begin walking, but not out the 
door. She went back towards the living room.

I took a moment to follow her. What the hell was going 
on? I was a mother. But a mother who hadn't felt like 
this since I could remember. It wasn't just the 
physical heat, but the whole taboo situation. A young 
girl, for god sakes. I knew she was a little 
experienced, anything out of the ordinary that could 
happen would be more just a memory for her than a 
long-lasting emotional scar. 

But I couldn't believe I'd seen proper Amy do this in 
the first place. And I could appreciate feminine 
beauty as much as the next woman, but nothing physical 
had ever happened with another girl. I followed her. 
For some reason, I thought about the party I was just 
at, which seemed like a month ago, now. My head was 
swimming.

She was sitting on the couch again. I moved around and 
leaned against the wall right next to the television. 
I started to say "Don't be embarrassed, it's alright," 
as if we were at the door and I was waving her home. 
But I caught myself when Amy began to unbutton her 
pants. She kept looking down, refusing to make eye 
contact, her blond hair covering her face. Her jeans 
were pulled down around her ankles, where she let them 
sit.

With her hand she began to replay what I had seen 
earlier. She was going to finish what she started with 
me watching. I'm not sure why, maybe she wanted some 
advice, but I think the voyeuristic aspect of it all 
was turning her one as much as it was me. Touching 
yourself, alone, to some rock music was fine, but I 
think she recognized when she was in the kitchen how 
much more stimulating it might be if she was being 
watched, and hell, she already had been for few slight 
moments. I have to give it her for appreciating this, 
much less actually acting on it. I would never have 
done it, my legs were shaky enough as it was.

The whole thing was very surreal. Everything was quiet 
except for her breath, slow and deep from behind her 
the mask of her hair, and my own breath, which was 
interrupted frequently by swallowing. My mouth was 
very dry. My stomach was tight.

I was gazing at her with new eyes. She was still 
rubbing the outside of her underwear with her palm, 
the daisies rumpling slightly and smoothing again. She 
had the kind of perfect skin only a teenager could 
have. Her thighs were just a touch whiter than the 
rest of her body. They were striking. Her thighs were 
leisurely swinging in and out.

Her breasts, average size for her age, were covered by 
a purple T-shirt but I could see the contour of her 
nipples through the fabric. Amy was genuinely turned 
on. I was noticing her chest when I made my way back 
below. Her underwear was getting a workout now, 
stretched and scrunched up faster and faster. I was 
getting glimpses of her lips. They already looked a 
little swollen, once and briefly swallowing a strip of 
cotton between them before it appeared again. 

I saw her pubic hair, which I don't think had fully 
grown in yet, but was a light color of brown and 
blonde. This may not sound particularly kinky or 
anything to many people, but to me, the perfect word 
is nasty. I was looking at Amy's... pussy, and I liked 
it, and it was nasty. She eventually gave up with her 
panties and pushed them halfway down her thighs, 
rubbing her vagina with an increasing pace, her pubic 
hair budding from between her fingers as she pressed 
her clitoris.

It was all happening so fast on one hand, but on the 
other, it was all happening in slow motion. Every 
detail lucid. Until then I was basically standing 
there. When Amy had first pulled down her pants, I had 
crossed my legs. Without thinking, I had been flexing 
my thigh muscles ever since, vaguely aware of my 
wetness. 

When she... relocated her underwear, I pulled my 
jacket closed with one hand and stuffed the other in. 
I'm not sure why I bothered holding it shut. I think I 
was still trying to give off an air of maturity by 
hiding my actions, trying not to give my explicit 
consent to this whole scene. Please, though- as if I 
weren't just by standing there, watching this girl, my 
babysitter, go at it.

Nonetheless, I slipped my hand under my blouse and 
under my bra to touch myself. If she had looked then, 
I'm sure she could tell what was going on, and soon, 
she would. The nipple I had reached for was already 
hard. I rolled it in between two fingers while 
kneading my entire breast. Damn. I started inhaling 
louder. Amy had begun to make a few noises, too, with 
each exhalation, a short sigh from the back of her 
throat. My amplified breathing, though, had caught her 
attention.

She shook the hair from the front of her face. I could 
see her open mouth, her upper lip, her eyes, which 
still refused to look in mine. This was fine, it might 
have broken the spell. So maybe not in my eyes, but 
she was definitely looking at me. I don't know what 
she'd been picturing, if anything, until then, but I 
think it was clear what she was picturing now. She 
didn't look away. 

I knew that she knew what I was doing. I let go of my 
jacket and it fell open, and she could see me grabbing 
my... to say this nasty, tit. I was playing with my 
tit, and forcefully. I'm sure I had a larger chest 
than she'd ever seen, at least bare, before. The left 
one was sprung from the cup, though to a degree, still 
covered by the thin film of silk of my shirt. 

I looked down for a second and saw the redness of my 
areola through it. Pushing the material aside, I freed 
it, squeezing it and pinching the nipple. I was 
getting extremely hot. I looked up, still nervously, 
to see that Amy was, too. I could barely even consider 
this whole thing as real, as if it were a movie.

I'm not sure I'd ever seen anything so hot. She was 
staring at me as I pulled intermittently and hard at 
my nipple, which I started doing because she was going 
so hard on herself. Amy had propped herself up a bit 
with her left arm, pushing her back against the couch, 
lifting her bottom up a little.

I think I was pushing against the wall for my own 
support as I had been sliding down it progressively 
for a while. It had pushed my skirt up some, and I'm 
sure she could see the end of my stockings. Maybe she 
found lingerie as sexy as most men. She was rubbing 
her, at this point the only thing I can call it, cunt. 
Tough. Quick.

Her clitoris was large and red from the speed she was 
polishing it with. Often, when her hand reached the 
top of its motion, near her belly button, her clitoris 
was pulled up and free, almost to a standing position. 
Wow. I had never been aroused by the thought of this 
particular body part, but I truly couldn't resist the 
sight. Areas of her crotch were becoming slick with 
dampness she spread with her palm. Her hips bobbed 
slightly up and down from the couch. 

Her gaze was locked on mine, my jaws were clenched, 
and my nostrils had probably flared. She was breathing 
quicker, too. I had moved on to my other breast, not 
bothering to release it from clothing, but rubbing it 
through the patterned nylon of my bra. It felt as good 
as, maybe better, than no clothing at all.

Amy had slipped her middle finger inside herself a 
couple of times. She was moving so reckless, it looked 
almost as if by accident. But she definitely loved it. 
Every time it dipped in, she released a tiny whine. 
Her breath had gotten ragged, and I'm sure for a 
reason. 

The arm that was keeping her lifted was straining. Her 
belly was taught for a second, then relaxed, then 
again. Amy was on her way up, about to orgasm if she 
hadn't already begun to. I was watching a teenage girl 
climax herself on my couch. Horrible. Incredible. My 
eyes were wide open. Amy was about to peak. I was 
rolling both of my nipples in each hand. 

What a bizarre, unwholesome sight this would be to a 
third party- an adult woman hanging out of her dress, 
aggressively molesting her own tits and a young girl 
with her pants around her ankles finger-fucking 
herself as they stared at each other. How else could 
you put it? How did this ever happen again? It was 
insane.

When Amy's body tightened, she grunted for a split 
second and clenched her hand down on her pussy. I 
watched her slip a final finger in, gripping. She had 
already let herself down entirely onto the couch when 
she came. After that she withdrew her arm from between 
her legs and leaned over her knees. A fine time to be 
self-conscious. Maybe she was just tired. I couldn't 
believe the energy she had put into it.

Halfway through, it was like something snapped inside 
her, perhaps encouraged by my endorsement, and she had 
made sure she was going to get all that she could out 
of it.

Now, though, she was just sitting there, breathing 
slowly, head down. All of a sudden I became a little 
concerned, maybe this whole situation was too out 
there for her. I began to feel guilty. Amy could 
really be freaked out or something. I knew I was 
having my own second-thoughts about it as I pulled my 
skirt down and loaded the rest of myself into my bra, 
adjusting my blouse. 

I stood there, as well, not sure what to do either. 
Amy eventually pulled up her panties, and she lifted 
her rump up to do it. She had a beautiful bottom- man, 
I was still tingling. I couldn't think like that 
anymore, what if she told somebody? I knew Amy and, 
rationally, I knew she wouldn't, but I still began to 
feel panicky.

Amy stood up and bent over to reach her pants. I slid 
over because I had to do something, and pushed away 
her hands as she was about to zip up. I did it for 
her, adjusted the waist and buttoned them. My eyes 
lingered on her navel and that smooth path heading 
down towards the patch of hair I was peering at just 
moments earlier... but other than that, the motion 
could be described as quite motherly. 

In my haste, I figured if I was in her position, well, 
I'd probably be home in bed by now, but all things 
considered at this point, I might be looking for some 
comfort. When she finally looked up, I understood that 
I was right. Her eyes looked a little glossy, but they 
were thankful.

I hugged her, acutely aware that she might be able to 
feel the stiff tips of my chest, still rigid. I began 
to wish I would calm down. If she did feel them, 
though, maybe she'd be getting a message that I 
wouldn't mind her knowing but certainly didn't want to 
say, "Gee Amy, thanks for doing that, you really made 
an old lady happy. I haven't gotten any in months, and 
while I usually go for a man in a bed, watching a 
teenage chick in my living room... well, thanks 
again." No, I didn't want to say that.

We walked down the hallway, and we still hadn't spoken 
yet. In the kitchen, though, Amy said, "Well, I've got 
school in the morning. Thanks a lot Jaime. Um... call 
me when you need me, again." Her tone was perfectly 
ordinary and it remarkably dissipated any awkward mood 
that may have remained.

"Great, Amy. I better go check on Jordan. Have a good 
night."

***

At the time I'm writing this, I haven't seen Amy 
again, but only because I haven't been out. I'm still 
don't like office parties, but I'm glad I went to that 
one because I had to come home. The process of hashing 
this little adventure out has let me comprehend one 
thing, which is that I enjoyed it. No, I fucking dug 
it. 

Sure, I still feel weird about it, but it's not like I 
don't have that naughty side. It's just that I hadn't 
seen it for a while. And I don't remember it ever 
being 'that' naughty. Doggy style in my parent's 
bedroom with my boyfriend... a distant memory and an 
average one, I think, compared to this.

What I caught Amy did that night, I did to myself a 
for few nights afterward. It was a really nice 
afterglow. But lusting after some hot piece of 
schoolgirl tail, that's the farthest thing from 
something I would ever do. 

I have a daughter of my own! I hope the next time Amy 
babysits for me, if she ever does, I'll come home and 
we'll just have a nice little chat about what an 
asshole her English teacher is. I guess we'll see.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life in
any way, shape or form. Anyone tempted to act out any
of the scenarios in this story should seriously 
consider seeking professional help.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 78