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Do you remember 1996? I do. I mostly remember that I couldn't wait for college to start in the fall so I could get out of my parents' house and start living the life of freedom I thought was supposed to be mine automatically when I had turned 18 that winter (it wasn't). I remember being horny practically all the time and sorry I'd broken up with my loser boyfriend at Christmas, because if I hadn't, at least I might have been getting laid. I'm not sure why I had any problem with that, really. I had gone from being sort of short, lumpy, and awkward the first two years of high school to finally having some style that showed off my petite, curvy frame. My shoulder-length blonde hair had finally come out of its grunge phase, too. I remember acting a lot more sophisticated than I really was, especially about sex. I remember being incredibly jealous of my friends who had dial-up internet access at home, which my strict parents not only weren't going to get but were definitely not going to give me the privacy to enjoy in exactly the way they feared.

And of course I remember the time I got caught.

It was a Friday night, and I was babysitting for the Petersons. Well, I was babysitting for Mr. Peterson, his wife was out of town on a business trip. Other than being a little offended that I, a young adult, was having to work such a kid job for extra money, I liked it. Mr. Peterson was pretty handsome in that all-American, square jawed way and you could have bounced a quarter off his ass even though he was in his mid-thirties. The boys were 2 and 4, so all I had to do was feed them hot dogs, roughhouse with them, and make sure they didn't drink bleach or burn the house down before I put them to bed at 8. Then I usually got a good 3-4 hours to do whatever I wanted before their parents got home.

Mr. Peterson was a computer engineer or something. They had this amazing big screen TV and hundreds of movies on tape. But, most amazingly, they had two computers that both had internet that was faster than the connection in the computer lab at school. As soon as the boys were in bed for good, I was plugged in, free to look up whatever I wanted without anyone finding out about it. Well, anyone I knew about. I'd never had to think about what a browser history was before, much less about how and why to clear it, but I'm getting ahead of myself.

That Friday was like any other. I kept the boys running around all evening so they'd sleep soundly and give me those few awesome hours of peace and internet. As soon as they were down, I was logging on to the computer in Mr. Peterson's office. The other one was out in the family room and not as private, and he'd told me I could use either one when I was over. I checked a few fan sites for some shows I liked. I looked up my favorite band and found a list of all their songs and the lyrics. And then, of course, I looked for porn.

Here's the miracle of the internet when you're 18 and horny: it's full of free porn, even in 1996. I don't even know how I knew how to find it, but I did. Hard cocks with thick heads dripping cum, full tits with big nipples, tan lines, abs, women spreading their shaved pussies for the camera. I loved all of it. I didn't really figure it out until a few years later in college, but I liked it all so much because I wanted men and women both and porn was a pretty safe way to get that without having to confront any uncomfortable truths.

I only made it through the slow loading of a few pictures before I had a hand in my polo shirt, pinching and pulling my nipples and massaging my B-cup breasts over my bra. I couldn't hold out at all when the photo set showed something I'd never seen before: the guy had his giant, veiny cock squeezed in between this bottle-blonde's big fake breasts and he was fucking them. I had never done that with my ex-boyfriend, or even thought about it. I squeezed my much smaller ones together and looked down the gap in my polo. Yeah, I thought, I could probably get a dick in there. I moved my hands from my breasts to my denim skirt and rolled it up on my hips so my hand could reach my pussy better as I moved through the photo set, rubbing my hot, damp cotton panties as I waited for the next picture to load. I could already feel my hard, tingling clit poking out between my small pink folds. As the photo set progressed from that revelatory titfuck to the guy stretching her open with the head of his cock, I slipped my right hand down the front of my panties and rubbed my clit with my index finger while I ran the end of my middle finger through my slick inner lips, massaging the tensing muscles.

I don't know why Mr. Peterson came home early. I don't know why I didn't hear him, other than I was in the office instead of in the family room. He was probably trying not to wake up the kids. When I think about it now, I'm sure he must have seen what I was looking up on his office computer whenever he wasn't home because I didn't know enough to hide it. Maybe he planned it that way because his wife was out of town - I don't know, we didn't exactly talk about it after. All I knew was that on the screen, this big-titted slut was getting plowed with her legs spread and off the screen I had two fingers working my pussy with my thumb pressing on my clit.

"You like that?" I nearly jumped three feet in the chair at his deep voice behind me. From the door of the office, I knew he could see the screen but he might not be able to see what I was doing with my hand. If I could just move carefully enough, he might not notice...

"Mr. Peterson! I am so sorry! I...this isn't what it looks like! It's an accident! I was looking up bands I like and this stuff just popped up! I don't know -" I had gotten my hand halfway out of my panties when he grabbed the desk chair and suddenly swiveled it around, looming over me and blocking me in with his body.

"An accident, huh? You don't have any idea how it got there?" His voice was stern, but he was smiling. One of the other reasons I liked using his office computer, other than the privacy, was that it smelled like him and he smelled good. Not like a dad - like Old Spice - but like guys at school I thought were hot. Now the smell of his cologne was filling up my nose and I was very aware of the side of his forearm resting lightly against my cheek. His eyes were boring into mine and I felt like I was blushing from my bra to my hairline.

"Oh, god, Mr. Peterson, I am so sorry! I heard about it at school and I got curious, so I looked it up after the boys went to bed. I've never done anything like this before! Oh, no," I groaned, the thought suddenly hitting me, "you're not going to tell my parents, are you? Please, you can't, they'll destroy me, I'll do..." I trailed off as my darting eyes finally took in the fact that the fly of his khakis was straining to contain an erection as obvious as any I'd seen in high school health class.

He took his hand from the back of the chair and gently cupped my chin, tilting my face up to look him in the eyes. "You'll do what, Caroline?"

"Annnnnnything?" I wasn't sure, even as I said it, that what I thought might be going on was really happening. Mr. Peterson was pretty hot, but I didn't really think of him that way. Sure, I joked with my girlfriends about giving him a Great Ass Discount on babysitting fees, but that was about it because I didn't think there was any chance he thought about me that way. He was very friendly, but nothing like making a pass. If there was any way I could get out of this mess while taking care of that raging boner, I'd take it happily.

"Anything, huh?" He chuckled, "you may want to be more careful with that in the future. Get up." He let me out of the chair, then sat in it himself. He lightly grabbed my wrist and pulled me so close to his chest I had to straddle his lap. "That's a good girl. Now, take off your shirt for me."

I took a deep breath and pulled my polo over my head. He reached up and pulled the holder out of my ponytail, shaking my hair down over my shoulders and ran his hands down the front of my chest to my red cotton bra, lightly resting his hands over my breasts and massaging small circles with his palms. "Your nipples are hard as rocks, Caroline. How long have you been in here masturbating?"

"Only like, ten minutes...ah!" He was pinching my left nipple hard through my bra, harder than I'd ever pinched it myself. It shot fire through that whole side of my body.

"I already know you're a liar and a little slut, that's what got you into this situation. Don't make it worse by lying more." He released my nipple, but grabbed and squeezed on my right breast to even out the sensations. "I'll bet you've been in here looking at porn and stroking your pussy for at least an hour. Should I check?" His left hand still had a tight grip on my breast and his right had moved down to cup my mound, hot through my panties.

"Ohhh, I...oh." I moaned a little. I was still unsure about all of this but I was also horny already and I could feel his fingers pressing into me through the thin cotton. He took his hand away and rolled my skirt all the way up over my hips. I'd been straddling him with my thighs as straight as I could get them from my bent knees, so I wasn't actually touching his lap, just his outer thighs. He pushed me down so my soaked pussy was separated from his tented khakis only by my damp panties. He grabbed my hips and ground my pelvis down onto his, sighing as I groaned in pleasure.

He reached up to my back and unfastened the clasp of my bra, sliding the straps off my shoulders and tossing it casually aside. He cupped my breasts in each hand and pulled me close to kiss my neck and shoulders. This is going way better than I expected, I thought.

He squeezed, licked, and sucked on each of my breasts and began grinding his erection more and more forcefully into me. My ex-boyfriend and I had spent three months dry-humping without going much further, so I was expecting this would end the same way that had: he'd either pull me up and unzip his pants, pumping his fist a few times on his cock until he shot a load on my thigh or, if he wasn't fast enough in stopping, he'd cum in his pants. I figured Mr. Peterson probably had a little more control than that, so maybe he'd have me stroke it for him. He sure liked my perky tits, so maybe he'd want to cum on them like in the porn I'd seen in the office. That would be pretty hot - and then I could put my clothes on and go, and we'd be even and he wouldn't tell my parents and he definitely wouldn't tell his wife.

We went on like that for what must have been ten minutes, at least. It was much longer than my boyfriend had ever managed to go. Mr. Peterson started sucking my nipples harder and harder, even using his teeth. It was hot at first, but then I found myself trying not to cry out as he squeezed my tits close to my ribs and pulled at my nipples with his mouth so forcefully that it felt like he was stretching them into a 1960s bombshell bra shape instead of their natural round shape.

"Ow! That's too hard!" I whispered, thinking he just didn't realize I was smaller and more sensitive than his wife. He kept the same pressure up, his left hand squeezing at the base of my breast while his right hand shot down to where my soaked pussy was pressed against his lap and he pulled my panties to the side, sliding his middle finger suddenly, easily inside me. I bucked my hips in surprise, sinking his finger even deeper and pulling against his sucking mouth even harder. He rocked his knuckles firmly against the outer lips of my pussy and kept alternating sucking my nipples, but he couldn't do much with the amount of room between us.

"Get up," he sighed in my ear, "I want access to that tight pussy. Take off your skirt. Hand me your panties." I jumped up and complied, happy to give my abused nipples a break. He took off his dress shirt, unfastened his belt, and slipped out of his khakis, giving me a glimpse of the swollen head of his cock peeking out of the gap in his boxers. He settled back into the chair and pulled me back to him, my shoulder blades resting against his chest. He pulled his hard cock out of his boxers and nestled it between my ass cheeks. I could feel the hot head of his cock leaking precum across my lower back. He spread my legs, hooking each over an arm of the chair, spreading me as wide as the women in the porn I'd seen. He stroked his fingertips back and forth through my inner lips, just like I did when I started pleasuring myself. It felt different because his fingers were so much thicker than mine. He stroked direct circles around my clit and chuckled deep in his chest when I jumped.

"You like that. Good, I like it, too. It's getting you to work your ass against my dick. Spread your pussy lips for me with both hands, Caroline." I did, with little hesitation. My ex-boyfriend had fingered me before, I knew it felt good, but that was in the back of the car or in a spare bedroom at a party, and it wasn't like this. Surely now that he had his cock out and rubbing against my ass, he'd cum soon and we'd be done. This was hot and it felt great, but I didn't want to go any further. It was all so sudden and confusing. He continued to play with my clit with one hand, then slid two fingers of his other hand most of the way into my spread pussy. He stretched inside me, getting my hot, tight folds to accept his fingers before he began to fuck me with them in earnest. As soon as he could slide his fingers all the way in, he hammered at me relentlessly. My moans became deep, guttural groans, then panting cries. He paused rubbing my clit long enough to grab my panties from his desk and stuff them in my mouth to muffle the sounds of me having the most intense orgasm I'd ever had. I stiffened against him, my back arching, every muscle in my legs tensing and shaking as I felt wetness pour down his fingers. I melted back into him, breathing heavily.

"Good girl," he whispered, kissing my shoulder and cupping my left breast with his left hand, "let's see you give me another of those." He gently fingered my pussy with his right hand, having a difficult time getting both fingers back inside my tightened canal. He kept a steady pace and I felt myself building for another orgasm, much faster this time because I'd already gone once. I didn't think anything could be as intense as my last one, but the second one took me by surprise. My whole body shook, and for a second, my mind went completely blank except for the color red. My chest heaved as I pulled the panties out of my mouth to catch my breath.

"Ah, I love that. So tight. You almost pushed me out." He wasn't taking his two fingers out of me, but he wasn't moving them, either. He just kept a constant pressure, not letting the little residual spasms of my orgasms dislodge him. "Have you ever been fucked, Caroline?" He gently stroked my breast with the hand that wasn't buried in my lap, rubbing the diamond-hard nipple casually with his thumb.

"No," I exhaled. My twitching pussy was still very sensitive and my clit and nipples had been hard and at attention for what felt like hours. I was hoping a little dirty talk and a hand job would get me out of there, because my body had already hit sensory overload and it was just starting to sink in that this wasn't some guy I had a crush on, this was Mr. Peterson. He was married. His kids were asleep upstairs, and what I was doing was really, really wrong.

"I don't even think that one's a lie." He probed the inner fold of my ear with his tongue and I shuddered in involuntary pleasure. "Well, that changes tonight. I'm going to have anything I want out of your body, since you told me you'd do 'anything' to keep your perverted little secrets." His right hand stayed firmly pressed to my vulva, his two fingertips beginning to trace small circles inside me, his left hand swept from my breast to my right shoulder, pinning me against his chest with his athletic forearm. "I'll have to stretch you out a little more, though. I'm going to split you open with this thick cock," he punctuated by rubbing hard against my tailbone, "but I want you to be begging for more of it when I'm done."

I pulled against him to test how much I could move, but his grip was strong and my legs were in an awkward position and still tingling from my orgasms. "Look," I said, giving up on pulling away physically and falling back on my wits, "Mr. Peterson, I am really sorry I disrespected...ah..." His fingers were rubbing more insistently inside me and it was very distracting. "I'm sorry I disrespected you and I'm sorry I lied, but I was scared. And I know I said I'd do anything, but...ggggnnuh!" He was scissoring his fingers back and forth inside me, and the feeling of stretching my tensed vaginal muscles was incredible. I was trying to look at him to see if I was getting anywhere with this tactic, but with him behind me, I could only get a glimpse of his wolfish grin. "Mr. Peterson, please! I don't want to have sex with you!"

"Then what am I going to do about what you've done to my cock?" He began rubbing his rod, hard as iron, against my ass with the same rhythm he was using with his fingers fucking my pussy.

"I'll..ah! I'll let you cum on me wherever you want!"

"Not good enough. I could have that already." He increased the pace of his rubbing.

"Then I'll...aaaah! I'll jerk you with my hand! I've done it...oh! Before! I've done it before! I'm good!"

"That's no replacement for your tight virgin pussy, Caroline." He said it sternly, casually, like he was telling me I'd given the kids the wrong snacks. Then he pulled his fingers out of me for a moment, and I thought maybe I'd gotten out of it after all. He moved his left hand quickly from my shoulder to cover my mouth and plunged his right index, middle, and ring finger all inside me. I screamed against his palm. I'd never felt my pussy stretch like that. He continued to grind his fingers into me and I didn't even feel it build that time - I just came, harder and dirtier than ever before. When I was in the third grade, a girl in my class had a seizure on the playground, just fell over mid-step and flopped around like she'd never get control of her limbs again. I imagine that's exactly what I looked like when I came. It felt like I blacked out for a few seconds, and I felt another sensation I'd never associated with sex before. Good, I thought, if nothing else, I peed on him. When I got my first girlfriend in college, I found out what that was really about, but at that moment, I felt exhausted and destroyed, so I took vindication where I could find it.

Finally he slipped his fingers out of me and took his hand off my mouth. Without him holding me, I pushed awkwardly up out of the chair and made it a few steps away before my rubbery legs and disorientation conspired to trip me. I hit the oriental rug on my elbows and knees, my ass pointing right at where Mr. Peterson was standing, mopping at the leather upholstery of the chair with some of the tissues on his desk. He discarded his boxers - I'd soaked them through.

"Gorgeous. Better than I imagined. Mmm mmm. You should wear tighter jeans to show that off. I'm going to fuck you just like that."

"I'll blow it," I panted. "You can cum in my mouth." The thought of having his cock, which was surely bigger than his three fingers, inside me was 20% exciting and 80% terrifying, so I blurted out the one thing I'd kept in reserve. My ex-boyfriend had been trying to get me to blow him since the first month we started going out because I'd started a rumor with my girlfriends that I was really good at oral, that I had this secret technique, and it had gotten back to him. I hadn't actually ever had a penis in my mouth, and, until I started looking at porn at the Petersons', I still sort of thought a blow job involved blowing on the penis. Like with air. From your mouth. I'd figured out pretty quickly that wasn't going to work as the secret technique I'd bragged about to look more sophisticated.