The Babysitters Pink Panties Part 2: Crossing the Line - Sex Stories

The Babysitters Pink Panties Part 2: Crossing the Line

The snowstorm gave Kate the perfect excuse to get what she wanted. Since Jenna did a great job of looking after Amy, following her grounded flight, she offered the babysitter a chance of the occasional over-night, allowing Kate to get back into the international flights. This was good news to me too. I was fully capable of looking after our daughter, a truth I preferred to keep to myself, but the nanny arrangement was producing so many positives. Jenna and I had developed some great routines that were benefiting the both of us. She had a talent in the kitchen, often preparing the most delicious sandwiches and amazing dinners. Of course, there was a whole other side to this arrangement that appealed to me, but it was largely limited to sneaked glances of her cleavage and tight bum. A few times after that first night I had found an excuse to slip into the bathroom while the babysitters discarded day-clothes still lay on the floor. I was far more cautious though, locking the door now, careful not to leave any cum on her panties in case discovered - but the thrill of my secret little habit and the intoxicating scent of her young pussy continued to excite me. Each sneaked opportunity came like vital gasps of air to a drowning man. Jenna and I were sitting at dinner one evening. We often spent time chatting about what was happening in our lives, albeit this was a little one sided as I rarely had all that much to offer. Jenna often discussed her home schooling, a concept I was ...

... still coming to terms with. As hypocritical as it might sound: for a father to limit what this intelligent girl was capable of learning seemed immoral. Thankfully, Jenna defied it in the bold way she enquired about the world around her. I had assumed a role of pseudo tutor/teacher, and this had developed into a strange friendship. I had grown accustomed to her forthright curiosity, she had few barriers although seemed to respect a few important boundaries (we had an unspoken rule of no sex-ed, that wasn’t my place), but every so often she caught me off guard with something. “Mr Price? Do you mind if I ask a question?” Her tone was a little nervous. I stopped picking through the pasta bowl and stared in to those beautifully curious green eyes. “I suppose it depends on the question really?” She toyed with a length of hair that hung from the middle parting and curved across her chest, seemingly trying to find the right way to word whatever she wanted to ask. “It’s about you and Mrs Price?” “Oh.” I let my fork rest on the bowl. She always called her Kate. Must be serious. “Why do you fight so much?” “We don’t fight.” I suddenly felt cornered – defensive even - but it was typical of this girl. “Well no, but you don’t seem to do much of anything really.” She had a point, and there was little sense in brushing her off, she was too smart to accept anything less than the truth. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to hear myself say it aloud ”I’m sorry, it was a stupid question. I shouldn’t have ...