My parents were in the habit of volunteering my to babysit for their friends, something I found annoying because I was often not paid and when I was my parents deducted what I got from my pocket money, which after I left school meant what they allowed me to keep out of my wages.
Carol was a case in point, she never paid, or if she paid my parents I never saw it. She was a single mother, rather a rarity where we lived, it meant nothing to me other than the fact my parents seemed to do a lot of gossiping about her, at some point though they must have befriended her because I was offered up to look after her kids about once a week. They were young kids and it was easy, she would put them to bed before I got there, she would leave and I rarely heard from them.
Carol sometimes did not come back until after midnight, in which case I was supposed to leave, locking the door behind me. I know that sounds odd in this day and age but that was the routine.
I was nosey and would always prowl the houses I was in. Carol's was something of an oddity in that it was a tip. She seemed incapable of putting clothes away, they were all over her bedroom, the bathroom and even the living room. I was accustomed to rooting in knicker drawers to handle the underwear of the woman of the house, taking a dark thrill from trying them on myself and lying on their bed, imagining I was them, and that I was having sex.
Sex was still a total mystery to me, my father had successfully kept me from virtually any contact with boys by confining me to a girls only school, and even after I left and started work at the local shop he only allowed it because he thought the guy who ran it was "A fucking Pouf." To my father the world was drowning in poufs, anyone who did not get their hands dirty as part of their work was a ponce, anyone who did not speak with a broad Yorkshire accent was a pouf, since Liam at the shop qualified on both counts he was promoted to a Fucking Pouf and therefore safe around his virginal daughter.
Sex for me was based on brief glimpses on TV before my father roared in rage and changed the channel and launched into a tirade about porn on the TV. Sex was huddled conjecture in the play ground with other equally clueless girls, sex was speculation and fear and dark longing.
In the bedroom of these other women, wearing their underwear and looking at my still thin and gangling form in the mirror I tried to imagine what they did, how much it hurt. From my inadequate education I thought sex was what men forced girls to do and they only did it because they wanted to please their man. Even though I had now turned 18 I made no attempt to defy my father, I wanted no man emotionally blackmailing me into letting him have sex with me.
So it was a puzzle as always why as looked at the lacy panties and bra clasped about me I felt the heat rising in me and I would lie back on the marriage bed trembling with my knees up and stroke myself through the panties and imagine the hand was not mine.
With Carol a new twist occurred to torment me. She was very untidy and worn clothing was always scattered about the bedroom. On this occasion I retrieved bra and panties from the floor and was startled to catch a scent rising from them. The bra was perfumed which puzzled me until I suddenly realised she must perfume her breasts. My gaze looked solemnly at me in the mirror as I digested the meaning of that, Carol could only do so because she anticipated a man getting close enough to her breasts to smell the perfume. I knew about perfume from my father, he called it tramp juice and it was only ever worn by women to trap men.
The panties I raised to my face, wondering if they too were perfumed, my mind a jumble at what that would indicate. But the scent I got was more subtle and strangely familiar. I pressed the gusset to my nose and breathed deep and my head swam and suddenly I recognised it, it was how my hand smelt after those illicit helpless stroking sessions.
In part trance I stripped and pulled on the worn underwear and the scent of her perfume rose up around me and I seemed to feel the dampness of her in the panties. I lay on the bed and whispered, "I am Carol, I have perfumed my breasts so they smell nice for you when you kiss them, and my pussy is wet and ready for you." My hand scrabbled between my legs but it was not enough, there was a terrible deep itch set in me, instinctively I grabbed a pillow and jammed it between my legs and clamped it tight with my legs, then turned on my front and ground my hips against it until that itch was being soothed by the bucking of bum, I moaned and took off the bra and pulled another pillow under me so my breasts rubbed against it and I had to bite it to stop from screaming as a tidal wave filled up my belly and then rushed to drown that itch in exquisite foaming hot water.
To my horror at that precise moment I heard the front door open and Carol speaking to someone. In blind panic I scrambled off and grabbed up my clothes, but as I hastily kicked off her panties, I heard high heels tapping quickly up the stairs. Nude I dived under the bed in blind panic.
The door opened and I saw Carol's trim legs walk into the room. She always wore a short skirt when she went out, and even in my dire straits I realised that I could see right up it to the dark section of her tights and even her skimpy lace panties, ones I had worn a couple of times, enjoying the rough texture of the lace on my pussy.
I waited for the outraged explosion when she would spot the tangled pillows and my clothes scattered about, but it did not come, her legs had stopped and I was looking at the back of her heels. Unable to bear the suspense I slid carefully close to the edge so I could see what she was doing. She was stood at her dressing table, piled high with clothes as usual, leaning down slightly and touching up her lipstick. For one horrible moment I was sure our eyes met in the mirror, but she just smacked her lips, straightened up and twisted from side to side, examining herself, she had on a tight thin sweater with a low neck that showed a creamy crease of cleavage. The shoes then pattered back out, leaving the door open.
Shaking a little with shock I crawled out and hastily pulled on my clothes. I heard Carol laugh downstairs and a deep male voice. I stood, trying to decide what to do, saunter downstairs and pretend I had been in the bathroom? Try and sneak out the front door at the bottom of the stairs?
While I was trying to decide I heard heels coming upstairs again and Carol called out in a low voice. "I won't be a minute." I panicked and dived back under the bed. The shoes came back into the room and the bed above me creaked, peering out at the mirror I saw she had sat on it and was looking at the mirror too, it seemed impossible she could not see me even in the shadows. Curiosity was fighting with sheer terror, she just sat there, doing nothing, then she cocked her head to one side, listening.
I heard it too, soft creaks as someone crept up the stairs. In the mirror Carol smiled and stood up, with a blur of static she stripped off her sweater, tossed it down right by my face where the familiar scent of her washed over me. She smoothed down her hair and did that twisting action again, thrusting out her breasts in the matching lace pink bra. Despite my predicament I was getting very excited again and my breathing sounded loud to me.
Carol put her back to the door and started going through some of the clothes on the dressing table as if looking for something. The door creaked softly and in the mirror I saw a man standing there, looking in, watching Carol. Carol selected something and turned, then cried "Oh!" and dropped it, then crossed her arms to cover her bra. "Mark, you startled me, what are you doing?" Mark did not answer, just stood there, looking at her.
