"So that's what you wear to babysit my kids?" he demanded, looking her over. She looked down.
Sure, her t-shirt was v-necked, and her skirt was filmy and loose, but it came to her knees, and her top, while fitted, didn't show that much of her impressive cleavage.
"Is there something wrong with it?" she asked nervously. She didn't want to lose this job. The single Mr. Rochester paid well and his kids were sweet and well behaved.
"Stand up," he demanded.
She almost argued, but realized that she would have to stand anyway. He was home, the job was over. He surveyed her critically.
"Fine," he said grumpily. "Just thought a pretty girl like you would want to not dress in such a dumpy way."
Insulting, but at least she still had the job.
"I'll see you next Saturday," he called as she left.
His comment jumped to mind as she dressed the next Saturday. She surveyed herself critically in the mirror. Plain brown hair, thick, but in a boring cut to right past her shoulders. Nice face, but it's roundness made her look more innocent than a 23 year old should look. Her whole body was round, with her full hips, curvy ass, large breasts and legs she thought were too fat. Instead of her normal t-shirt and loose skirt to head to the Rochester's, she reached for jeans, her waisted skinny pair that fir her like a glove, and a button down that was tight over her breasts, the buttons straining over her cleavage. It wasn't inappropriate, but it definitely showed off her body. She tied her hair into it's normal ponytail, applied tinted chap stick, slipped her feet into flats, and went to work.
Mr. Rochester was in a hurry to leave that night, so he barely glanced at her. She had a quiet night with the kids, and after putting them down, sat down to wait for their dad. And waited. He was late.
Boredom sat in after half an hour, and she started to explore a little, flipping through their films and bookshelves. And that's when she found the books.
High up on the back of the shelves, she found sex books and pornographic magazines. She wondered why they weren't in Mr. Rochester's bedroom instead of out here, and almost put them back, embarrassed. She wasn't a virgin, but she definitely wasn't experienced. The only sex she had had was fumbled, awkward sex with equally inexperienced boys her age. She flipped through the books.
And her mouth dropped open.
Women tied up, women with collars on, men fucking them against walls. People bent into awkward positions, having sex with multiple people. Men getting whipped by women in leather, women getting fucked by four men at the same time. Blow jobs in every position, sex in even more. She felt her face and neck get hot, blushing darkly at the photos.
She was s focused, staring at a photo of a man bent over and licking the vagina of a tied women while another woman was on her knees, blowing him, that she didn't hear the door open. She didn't hear Mr. Rochester walk into the living room, and she wasn't aware of him stopping in the doorway behind her. She didn't know that his eyes had immediately gone to her round perky ass, displayed well in her jeans, then to her small waist, and finally to her hands and what she was holding. He smiled from behind her. She would have had to have done some major snooping to find those, and he could see from the mess of the pile they were in that this wasn't the first one she had flipped through.
"Rachel," he said softly, and watched as she jumped, dropping the book. It fell open to a revel a picture of a woman bent over, grasping her ankles, and a man behind her, his hands grasping her hips as he fucked her. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing," she stuttered. "I was cleaning, and i found..."
"You were cleaning the top of the bookshelf?"
"Yes. It could get... dusty."
"You were snooping. Going through my things."
"No! I was just..."
She trailed off, and her face was still hot. She was flushed a dark pink, and he saw with satisfaction that her chest blushed too, her deep cleavage matching her face.
"Were you looking for stuff like this?" he tried to keep his voice angry, but in truth he felt gleeful. He had been waiting for a reason to see this babysitter naked.
"No!"
"Do you like looking at this stuff while my children are in the next room? What if they had come in while you had this open? What if Jeannie saw it?"
"Mr. Rochester, honestly, it was a mistake."
"Then why did you pull it down and open it? Several of them, it looks like? Does it give you a thrill to look at porn in my house?"
"Mr. Rochester, no!"
"Then why were you looking at it?" he demanded. She blinked at him.
"What?"
"If it doesn't give you a thrill, why were you even looking?"
"I was just... curious." She said this last part quietly.
He laughed.
"You honestly expect me to believe that you haven't gotten a thrill from this at all? You look at porn and haven't gotten a tiny bit wet?"
She flinched at this. She was wet. But she shook her head.
"You're lying," he guessed, watching her blush deepen.
"I'm not!"
"Now you're a pervert who looks at porn right outside my children's bedroom, and a little liar."
"Mr. Rochester! I'm not a pervert, this is your... these are your books! And I'm not a liar!"
He suddenly moved towards her, faster than she would have expected, and was right in front of her.
"I don't want my children being watched by a liar, Rachel," he told her. She could smell beer on his breath, and up this close she could see how dark his eyes were in his handsome face.
"I'm not a liar," she said again. He smiled at her, and she got nervous. She took a step back, and bumped into the bookshelf. She couldn't get away from him.
"Really?" he demanded. His hands went to the front of her jeans.
"Mr. Rochester! What are you doing?"
"Shh," he demanded. "Don't wake up the kids. I'm just making sure you're not a liar, like you claim, and then we can move on. Unless, of course, you are lying, which makes you a pervert and a liar."
Her jeans were unsnapped, and the long zipper pulled down before she could grab his wrists, but he was too strong for her. His hand slipped into her jeans, his hot palm pressed against her stomach and he forced it down under her tight pants. She squirmed when he fingers touched the top of her panties, and he scowled. His other hand shot up, and grabbed her ponytail, holding her in place.
His hand slipped into her panties, and one of his long fingers found her slit. Moisture spilled out as his finger made contact, and with no effort, his long finger found her vagina. She gasped as he shoved the long digit into her. She was so wet there was no resistance.
"What were you saying about not being wet?" he asked her calmly. Her jeans were so tight that he couldn't move his hand, but he could move the finger inside of her. Slowly, he began to bend his first knuckle, finding the rough, spongy patch of skin inside of her and focusing on that as his palm ground against her clitoris.
She gasped again when his fingertip made contact with her g-spot. His grip on her hair was too tight for her to escape, and she was skewered on his finger. Movement wasn't an option. She tried to wriggle, to lift herself off the invading hand, but he just moved his hand with her, his finger going deeper inside of her.
"Liar," he told her, matter of factly. "You're soaking wet. You little pervert. Were you planning on touching yourself if I hadn't gotten home? Lay on the couch and rub your wet little cunt until you came?"
"No," she told him, but it came out as a gasp. He had added another finger, and his palm was pressing harder and harder against her clit.
"Liar," he said again. His hand left her hair, only to slide down to her throat, lightly encircling. In no way choking her, but she could still feel his hot hand there. "You lied about being wet, why not lie about that?"
"No," she said again. "I don't do things like that."
"Touch yourself?"
"No."
"You expect me to believe that a girl who looks at porn in the house where she's babysitting and gets this wet from it doesn't touch herself? Or maybe you're just a little slut, and you have other people touch you."
"I'm not a slut," she whispered. Her knees were starting to shake. His rubbing got a little faster.
"I have my fingers up your wet, little cunt in my living you and you expect me think that you're not a slut?" he asked her.
"I'm not a slut," she insisted, but she was gasping now.
"Maybe you're not," he admitted. "Your cunt is so tight, I wouldn't be surprised to hear you're a virgin. Are you a virgin?"
She shook her head.
"But still a liar," he said, almost sadly. "And in my house, liars get punished."
Punished? But she could barely focus now. Her legs were shaking, and her breaths came in gasps. Her eyelids fluttered and he watched her carefully. Just as she was about to cum, he pulled his hand out of her pants, and shoved his wet fingers into her mouth.
"Taste them," he demanded. "Taste them and tell me how not wet you are."
She coughed at the sudden intrusion, and his hand tightened on her neck until she closed her mouth around his fingers.
