Disclaimer: This story contains explicit material including masturbation, diapers, diaper masturbation, and lesbian sex. If you do not wish to be subjected to any of these, please do not continue to read this story.
Part 1: Christie at the Gas Station
"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow!" said Christie Wilkins as she left her friends in the high school parking lot. She drove her small, hand-me-down, gremlin-like car toward the exit to the parking lot, stopping at the stop sign at the intersection. She looked down at her instrument panel and sighed, "crap... Almost out of gas AGAIN! Why can't I have a hybrid or something that gets more than 8 miles to the freaking gallon?" she asked herself.
She took a left turn out of the parking lot and made her way to the nearest gas station. She pulled up to the pump and stepped out of her car, looking around as she did so and taking in the scenery which she had seen far too many times. "I really need a change in pace..." she said, walking into the gas station to pre pay for her gas. She never filled up her gas without paying first anymore. The first time she did, she put exactly the amount of gas she had wanted into her tank, but the second... The second time, she had forgotten about it while talking to her friend on the phone. She had put ten dollars to much into the tank... Ten dollars which was her money for dinner and the basketball game that she was going to.
Now, Christie wasn't the best looking girl in school, and definitely not the best looking senior. She was about four feet nine inches in height and weighed about a hundred pounds. She had nice, round cheeks, but a relatively slender head, making her look somewhat like a chipmunk. Her face was covered in freckles which stood out when she blushed or when she was in the sun for too long. Her auburn hair was normally always kept in a single French braid which reached half way down her shoulder blades, but when it was let out, it was very wavy and very shiny. She wore glasses with small, rectangular frames, which, most of the time, she kept perched on the bridge of her nose. But when she wanted to, she could put on many faces by just moving the glasses to the very tip of her nose. She could be pouting, offended, suggestive (something which she reserved for only her boyfriend), and many more things with this one, simple gesture.
On to the point, she was particularly put off by having to spend her game money on gas because her boyfriend was the captain of the basketball team, a fact which she was more than proud to admit, and the reason she was doubly sorry that she had to miss the game, and resolved never to put gas into her tank without paying first ever again.
Christie walked through the door to the gas station and up to the counter, her wallet in hand. "I'd like to pre-pay twenty dollars, please." She said politely. "Fine," said the cashier, a bitter-looking woman behind the counter. "Do you want a receipt?" the woman asked callously. "No thank you," said Christie, turning from the counter and walking to the bulletin board which hung by the door. This was a regular occurrence for Christie when she pumped gas. She would always look at the bulletin board before leaving the building to see if someone had a car for sale, or if someone was looking to hire. She scanned the board quickly, and quickly found something of interest. It was a poster with large lettering on the very top which said "Wanted: Someone for Babysitting," and phone number tabs at the bottom. She started to read the fine print on the poster when, all of a sudden, from behind her, came a loud voice the voice of the woman.
"Hey, are you going to go pump your gas, or are you just going to stand there looking like a delinquent?" she asked with a sneer.
"I'll go pump my gas now." Said Christie, her heart beating hard from the fright the woman had given her. Christie quickly turned around and grabbed one of the phone number tabs and jammed it into her pocket, and went to put the gas in her tank.
Part 2: An Interview on the Phone
About three hours after Christie had gotten the gas in her car, she was sitting at home watching TV when she heard her mom's voice. "Christie! You need to do your laundry, sweetheart!" she called. "OK, mother!" said Christie, standing up and gathering the clothes off of her floor, throwing them into a clothes basket near her bedroom door. This was another regular occurrence in Christie's life.
As soon as she had all of the clothes gathered into the basket, she began to strip off the shirt and jeans that she was currently wearing. The shirt, a plain white short sleeved v-neck shirt, was first, followed by her faded blue jeans, both of which she nonchalantly tossed into the basket without any further thought. She slowly walked over to her dresser and opened one of the drawers, but stopped when she saw, out of the corner of her eye, the slightest bit of movement to her right. She turned and looked at what had moved, and there she saw it: the full length mirror that she had bought for her room to make sure that she looked good enough for her boyfriend, Todd. She looked herself up and down, from the top of her head, to her shoulders and neck, to her supple, purple lace bra encased breasts, and down further to her hips and pelvic area, encased in the same purple lace that her breasts were, only in boy short form. "You know, girl," she said to herself, "you don't look too bad for an 18 year old."
Without thinking, she reached up behind her and unclasped her bra, taking it off and tossing it into the basket with her other clothes and looked into the mirror, admiring her small, perky breasts and the nipples that stood at attention. Her right hand seemed to move of its own accord, resting itself over her mound outside her panties and stroking up and down. She let out a small moan and let her head fall backwards as her hand continued to move up and down. This was another one of the regular occurrences which Christie had become so accustomed to. She would always catch her reflection, always in the scantily clad state of gathering all of her laundry, and she would always bring herself to a quick climax at the sight of her body, a sight which, for some reason, turned her on. Unfortunately, the fates were against Christie today.
"Christie! Get your laundry done, now!" came her mom's voice as she began to feel herself move toward the climax. "Fine, mother!" she called, her hand stopping its movement and her thumb hooking into her panties waistband along with her left hand's. She pulled her panties off and threw them into the basket, and walked back over to her dresser drawer, grabbing another pair of panties out, these a simple white cotton with butterflies on them, and pulling them on. She didn't know why, but she really enjoyed these panties. They made her feel like a little girl again, a time in her life which she had to miss out on because of family problems.
She closed that drawer and opened another, taking out a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt and swiftly putting them on, not worrying about a bra since she was just in her house.
After she had made sure that she was properly dressed and covered, and that her mother would not have a conniption fit that she was "too young to be dressing like one of those supermodels," she grabbed the basket of clothes and made the seemingly long trek (which was really out of her bedroom door and down the stairs directly to the right) to the laundry room. "Always at the most inopportune times," she said to herself, talking, of course, about her mother's interruption.
She opened the washer and threw some of her shirts into it, and a couple of pairs of jeans, checking the pockets before she threw them in. Soon, nothing remained in the basket except the lone pair of jeans which she had taken off not minutes before, and various items which would have to be put into the "delicate" wash cycle.
She picked up the pair of jeans and searched the pockets, expecting to find nothing, but pulling out of the right hip pocket the little slip of paper from the babysitting poster at the gas station. She quickly threw the jeans into the washer and started it up, running upstairs. She needed a job, after all, and she was NOT going to let someone slide in and beat her to this one.
She took the stairs two at a time, like she normally did when going to her room, and quickly opened and shut her door, grabbing her cell phone off of her dresser. She jumped onto her bed and quickly dialed the number, leaning against the wall the head of her bed sat against.
As the phone rang, her stomach was in a knot. She'd never really had any babysitting experience, so she didn't know what to say if they asked her any questions. "Hello?" came the voice on the other end of the line, a woman's voice. It was calm and smooth, and every time it spoke, Christie felt more and more relaxed.
"Hi! Um... I'm calling because I saw your poster about babysitting in the gas station, and I was wondering if you still had a need for someone," said Christie, her voice a little shaky.
"Oh, yes, actually I do still need someone," said the voice. "I will just need to ask you a few questions so I know you're qualified. How old are you?" she asked in a matter-of-fact manner.
"I'm 18," answered Christie.
"Oh, that's perfect," said the woman. "Hmm... Do you have any experience?"
"I... I don't..." Christie stammered, hoping that she would still be alright with the job.
"Oh... Well, that doesn't matter, I can walk you through most of it, and we can establish a comfort zone if you do qualify," she said. "Let's see... I think I only have one more question. Are you good with diapers?" she asked.
