Sarah was a classical girl-next-door. She had lived in the house three doors down since before I had moved into the area. She had always been studious and serious, with her bespectacled nose in her books most of the time. Consequently, she had graduated high school early, won a generous Ivy League scholarship, and, now 19, was a college sophomore. In the vacations she would return home, and help out in the family business; a small grocery store two blocks away. She also babysat for many of the neighbours, including myself.
I divorced my wife and moved to the street with my two young sons six years ago. The eldest was 9, the youngest 7. They were good boys; no trouble. I had initially struggled, raising them alone. I am a journalist and my family commitments frequently caused me to turn work down, or to spend time away from my boys. Their spending time with their other was not only, as she made plain, an inconvenience to her, but would leave them feral on their return. My relatives would take them, but being out of state, unless I was going away for an extended period, the logistics made it impractical.
Talking to Sarah's father, he suggested that she would be an ideal babysitter. She could live in temporarily. She'd take care of the house and the boys, and if left for a few days at a time, she'd probably have them speaking Ancient Greek and designing perpetual motion machines. She was delightful, disciplined and talented. Her father was a great neighbour. The whole family were sweet and pleasant. They were pretty conservative and lived modestly. Respect and family values were clearly very important to them. This was a good example for my boys. I had not really had a relationship since my wife.
This arrangement worked well for some months. I would time my big projects to coincide with Sarah being at home. I paid her generously, and she cooked and cleaned like I never did. The house sparkled and my boys were well turned out and happy. It seemed like a life of perfect idyll.
It was late summer when I was planning to return home on Monday morning. I had managed to wrap up early and caught a flight the night before. I didn't really think about calling in advance; it was late and I figured Sarah might well be asleep, so I pulled my car into the garage and came into the house through the kitchen. I did not announce my presence, but was stopped in my tracks when I walked around the corner from the kitchen into the den.
I saw Sarah sitting on the couch. I was about to announce myself when I saw what she was watching on the TV. It was soft porn -- a woman was bent over a kitchen worktop, with her lover pounding her from behind. It was not too graphic, but I froze as I saw that Sarah was rocking backwards and forwards with a cushion between her legs, eyes fixed on the screen.
My mind raced. I had not thought of Sarah as a sexual being before. I knew that she was attractive, but it had never entered my head to think of her this way. And as soon as I did, I felt a surge of sexual attraction. My cock grew hard, and I stared at her for what seemed like an age. My growing cock pressed against my corduroy pants, and I switched my gaze to the TV again as the woman in the movie began to climax. Sarah increased her rocking. I pulled my shirt out of my waistband to disguise my erection, and quickly hatched the beginnings of a plan.
'Hi Sarah, I-' I dropped my keys onto and end table, and feigned shock at what I was seeing. 'Oh my God!'
Sarah turned around, eyes wide with surprise and guilt. She said nothing.
'Sarah, what are you doing? I can't believe-'
She grabbed the remote and turned off the TV. 'I'm sorry! I was just-'
'I saw what you were just doing! What were you thinking?' I was careful, not wanting to ham up the acting too much. I was also incredibly aroused by her flushed face. 'My boys could have walked in!;
Her mouth moved as if to speak but no words came. She began to sob, though without tears. I needed to get her to my office to execute my plan. This was right at the back of the house, above the garage, next to my bedroom.
'I'm going to call your father.'
'No, please!' said Sarah, and moved towards me. I reached for the cordless telephone in the den. I deftly switched it off as I picked it up.
'I'll call from my office. Don't you go anywhere!'
I moved through the kitchen towards the back stairs, and as I had hoped, she followed.
I picked up the office telephone and she ran up to me, pleading. 'Please don't tell me father!'
I feigned an acceptance of her plea, and sighed. 'Well, perhaps we can resolve the situation. I mean, it's normal to want to do what you were doing, Sarah, but in my den? When anyone could walk in? And why do you need to do it anyway? I mean, doesn't your boyfriend take care of you?'
'I don't have a boyfriend.'
'Not even in college?'
'I never had a boyfriend.'
I looked at her, attempting to seem fatherly. 'Are you a virgin, Sarah?'
