47 comments/  234303 views/  105 favorites

Emma's Summer Babysitting Job

By: scouries



Hi, this story is my official entry in the 2010 LITEROTICA Summer Lovin' Contest. It's also vying for a prize in the ASSOCIATION of INDEPENDENT READERS contest that runs concurrently.

It's your votes, the votes of readers around the world that will decide the contest winners -- please, after you've read the story, take the few extra seconds required to place your vote.

The sexual encounters described in this story involve only people who are 18 years old and over. Although fictionalized it is based on a true story.

Mid July 2009 Couries Village, Hopkins Island, Massachusetts

"Maaaaatt?"

"Mrs. Pemberton-Smith," I answered with a quick nod of acknowledgment as I handed Emma and her friends a menu each. "Mrs. Connors ... Miz Burton," I added as I looked down at the three twenty something year old women I'd known all my life. I was grinning. 

"Matthew Liam Hopkins?" Emma Pemberton-Smith, nee Kruger, said as she jumped up from her seat, the surprise clear in her voice. "What are you doing here?" she asked as she enveloped me in her arms.

"My god it is," Trudi Burton said as I felt the eyes of all three examining me.

"Not little Matty? What happened to you?" Jackie Connors said. She, even at her age and married for four years, was still, with her pixie face, the cutest girl on the island.

Of course I blushed. "Ha, ha. So, all of a sudden I'm that hard to recognize," I finally asked. But I knew there was no way I was going to stop them. They were famous teasers and together in a group were unstoppable.

"Gawd, Mom and Katie said you'd grown up, but not--" Emma started as the girl I'd loved since I was two years old pulled me even closer. 

"They didn't say he'd become Mr. Hunk though," Jackie interrupted.

We were on Hopkins Island, an island sitting in the Atlantic, a twenty minute ferry ride from the mainland, an island that was named for a great, great, great, great grandfather of mine and which was famous for the wide pristine beaches that circled it.

Eight miles long by about two wide, it was home to about two hundred permanent residents, most of who lived in the small port of Couries, and who lived off the tourists who flocked there every summer.

People like my family, and Emma's and Trudi's and Jackie's, who'd descended from the earliest owners, and who now owned ninety percent of the three hundred some cottages that were sprinkled along the shoreline. People who spent most of the year in Boston or New York or Philadelphia, but who each summer flocked back to the island. We were a group of families who'd intermarried extensively in the early pioneer days before dispersing out into the bigger world. Emma and I had figured out years before, using old genealogy tables one of my great aunts had collected, that we were fourth cousins once removed. 

The three girls I'd just handed menus to I'd known all my life. Six or seven years older than me they'd been part of the landscape of my summer months for my first sixteen years. 

Emma, our closest neighbor, had become my babysitter whenever mom had needed one in those long ago years. But she'd been even more than that. The fact that my mom, still a teenager, and only nine years older than Emma, a girl she'd looked up to all her life, had mothered a child was an irresistible lure to the young girl who lived two hundred yards down the beach.

She'd become a part of our little family. Mom and Emma and I. Emma had spent as much time in our kitchen cooking pies with mom as she had looking after me. 

"Gawd I've missed you soooo much," Emma said as she gave me another hug. I inhaled her presence even as I felt her breasts against my chest; she was the girl who'd always smelled better than any other. She'd been holding me in her arms since I'd been a week old.

"Hah, you shouldn't have run off and married that--"

"Ooooohhh Matty, if only you'd been a little older," Emma cooed in my ear before releasing me. Her friends laughed. I smiled, but not inside.

As I served the three of them their drinks and lunch we all caught up to date on each other. Where we were living, school details, marriage status, babies etc., etc. It was something that happened a thousand times between returning islanders in those first days back on the island each summer. A trading of news and gossip that caught us up on people we hadn't seen since the year before.

"What are you doing here anyway?" Jacqui finally asked. Instead of admitting that I was doing a favor for my girlfriend, the daughter of the restaurant's owner, I just told them that a friend had asked me to fill in for him for one shift.

"Are you going to be staying out on the island all summer?"

"Yeah, mom's given me a hundred jobs to do around the cottage."

"How is your mom?" Emma asked. 

"She's working ... she'll be here this weekend."

"Clark too. But tell your mom I'll be over to your place Saturday morning, first thing," she promised. "And you too. I want to see you, we have so much to catch up with. Come to the beach tomorrow," she insisted as she looked up into my eyes. I nodded. "Promise?"

The Next Day

"Hey," I said when I'd gotten within ten feet of her. She was sitting in a beach chair, her toes dangling in the breaking surf. I'd been walking towards her with the sun at my back.

"Hey you," she answered back when she finally recognized me. 

I was eighteen. Emma twenty-five. She was wearing a skimpy yellow bikini. There wasn't one girl on the island who'd have looked better in it. 

"You shouldn't be allowed out in that," I told her as I sat down on the towel next to her.

"Why not?" she asked. Meanwhile she slowly arched her back in a languorous stretch that tested, almost to the breaking point, the strength of the clasp that held the bra together. I was surprised by her pose, although I'd seen her flirt before, the big difference in our ages, and our relationship -- young boy and babysitter -- had precluded any sort of even mild sexual interaction between us in the past.

"Twenty-five year old married women shouldn't be teasing poor little innocent thirteen and fourteen year old boys. You might just ruin them for life," I teased as my eyes flicked over the body in front of me.

"I don't see any fourteen year old boys." She let her eyes drift down over me as she said the words. 

"Their mothers have locked them all up."

"I didn't ruin you for life when you were thirteen," she challenged as she unconsciously moved into another pose that highlighted her body.

Little did she know I thought to myself. "You're still the most beautiful girl on the island."

"Yeah right." Emma's eyes were shining.

"I've missed you. Gawd I've missed you," I told her as I let my hand rest on her knee for a second.

"It's too bad you're still not seven years old. Clark and I would baby sit you any time your mother wanted."

"So you don't approve of the eighteen year old model?" I asked.

"The eighteen year old model is more than just fine," she answered with her nicest smile. "In fact he's pretty darn handsome."

"You should have waited."

"I should have ... but I was swept off my feet ... by the sexy and debonair Mr. Pemberton-Smith ... how could I refuse?" 

"Yuck! By the way, how is the wonderful Clark these days?"

"Don't be a bad boy Matty," she admonished. We were teasing. We both knew each other too well. But there was something new, something that had never been there during our first fourteen years together. And it was directly related to the part of my anatomy that was rapidly stiffening in my shorts. It had never been part of our relationship before.

"He's the perfect husband," Emma added. I stuck my finger into my mouth and simulated gagging.

"Shut up, he is," she insisted. 

"Yeah and apparently I've got to play mister debonair in the semi-finals of the club championship this weekend."

"I know. He's so excited," his wife answered. "He's wanted to win it for years. You should have heard him when he won his last match. I've never seen him so happy."

What an asshole I thought. Fuck, this guy's married to a goddess and the best moment of his life is winning a quarter-final match in the Hopkins Island Country Club's Championship. "He doesn't have a chance," I boasted. I wasn't planning on letting Clark Pemberton-Smith, a lawyer for crying out loud, beat me. Not now that I'd seen Emma again.

"That's what daddy told him."

"Your father told Clark he couldn't beat me?" Emma nodded yes. I laughed. I'd always liked Emma's old man. "That must have made his day."

"Daddy said he played with you a couple of weeks ago and you looked unbeatable."

"I'll bury poor old Clark."

"Don't you dare! You should let him win, it's only fair. You're younger; you'll have lots of other chances."

"Are you saying you really want me to let Clark win?"

"Yes you should. For me. For all I did for you." The challenge, the calling in of long ago earned IOU's was clear in her voice.

I swallowed the quick refusal that had rushed to my lips. Then thought a second. Then decided. "Okay, if you ask me I will," I invited.

"Ha, you'd never let anyone win. Why would you?" Emma couldn't hide her sudden suspicion.

"For you. And because you happen to be the second favorite person in my world." She knew my mom was number one.

"I bet. You probably have girlfriends around every corner."

"Well of course you would have to agree to a few of my terms."

"I knew it! Like what?"

"Well I've got to get something in return for my letting such a wimp win," I answered.

"Wimp! Hah, he'd probably beat you anyway." We were both teasing. And we were enjoying it.

"He always gets nervous under pressure." 

"He does not, he's always been good at games," Emma protested. I said nothing. "What are your terms anyway?" 

"A kiss from the pretty princess," I said, then I puckered my lips and kissed the air twice.

"You're nuts."

"And--"

"And what?"

"And a whole Emma Kruger raspberry/strawberry combo homemade pie hot from the oven."

"A whole pie just for a silly golf game?" she asked in a tone that said, 'are you nuts'. But then she started to laugh. Then she leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on my lips. Not quite a boy/girl kiss but somehow more than a babysitter or brother/sister one.

"So does mean we've got an agreement?" I asked.

"Yes, but it's going to be an Emma Pemberton-Smith pie," she said as she jumped up and ran laughing into the surf. "And don't you dare tell him," she yelled back.

"It wasn't a very good kiss," I complained as she dove into the waves.

I was in love again. And that was before she came running out of the surf, with droplets of water flying off her athletic body, with her breasts straining as they jiggled, with the darkness of her aureole showing through the thin yellow material, with her long curly blond locks dancing in the sunlight ...

... and then she threw herself down onto her back next to me on the beach towel. "I LOVE THE SUMMER," she yelled to me and the gods above as she spread her arms and legs in an invitation to the sun to ravish her. The clearly outlined camel toe of her sex was the only invitation I watched.

"Shall I cream you?" I asked as I reached for the tube of lotion.

"Just you remember Matty Hopkins that I'm a married woman."

"Yes ma'am," I answered as I squeezed the tube.

I spent about two hours with Emma on the beach that day. I creamed her front and then later her back. She did the same for me. And it wasn't like it was when an eleven year old Emma Kruger had put sunscreen on four year old Matty. And we both knew it.

We swam. We laughed. We remembered. And for the first time we flirted. And there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that she knew what effect she'd had on me. Or that she'd enjoyed it.

But Emma Kruger was now Mrs. Clark Pemberton-Smith. But as I walked home that afternoon I knew that it didn't matter... I knew I wanted her more than any young boy ever had ...

GOLF Sunday, July 19th

Clark Pemberton-Smith wasn't that bad a guy. Or so everyone said. The prick!

Like Emma I'd known him all my life. Like Emma and I, he too was a descendant of one of the original families. He was three years older than Emma and close to ten older than me. I'd seen him on the beach, at parties, out sailing, throwing a football on the beach and everywhere else on the island all my life. He'd even been a day camp councilor for the younger kids, including me, when he was seventeen or eighteen.

I didn't like him. Never had. Well maybe that's not true. Maybe I only started disliking him when he started hanging around Emma. I'd known nothing about the whole sex thing of course. What seven or eight year old boy does? But somehow I'd sensed that Clark was up to no good with my baby sitter, with my friend, with my almost sister. I didn't know how or why but I knew he was a danger to her. And hence to me and mom.

Of course he really wasn't! He was just a horny teenager who all of a sudden had realized that the young girl, some three years younger than he, had all of a sudden become the prettiest and most desirable girl on the island. Something every other guy had realized at about the same time. Honestly, looking back, I only disliked him because it was his interest that Emma returned. 

It really wasn't until Emma was sixteen or seventeen that they started to go out as a couple. And of course that just ratcheted up my dislike of him even more.

And Clark knew I didn't like him. I'd overheard him talking to Emma once, when she was eighteen or so, when he'd asked her, "What is with that little prick, every time I come over he--" 

"Don't call him that, he's my favorite little almost-brother, I love him," my baby sitter answered.

"Almost brother! He's a jerk. Christ, did you see him, his little hands curled into fists the second I came into the room. It's like he's trying to protect your honor."

"And what's wrong with that?" Emma asked.

I was eleven that summer, Clark was twenty-one.

Emma married him three summers later. By that time I'd come to understand what I was losing. She danced with me at the reception. And in her white gown and with her shining, happy eyes she'd broken my heart. Late into that night, hours after the reception had ended, I'd sat crying in my mother's arms on the beach that fronted our summer home. 

***

Clark called me on the following Friday night, right after he'd arrived on the island ferry, to arrange the match. Sunday morning at nine a.m. was arranged. And as I biked over to the islands golf course on that Sunday I was still debating with myself if I should let him win. And my indecision had grown even greater after we'd played nine holes.

"You don't have to do it you know," Emma said to me seconds after her husband and I had finished the front nine.

"Don't have to do what?" I asked back.

"He shouldn't have said that." Even though he was a pretty good player, in fact he was a good all round athlete, Clark was one of those guys who gets nervous on the golf course. And when he got nervous he talked. And that day he talked to his golf ball, to his clubs, to the five or six people who were following us around, and of course to me. He was big time nervous! 

It turned into one of the least enjoyable nine holes I'd ever played. And it had ended with him saying, as we were walking over towards the snack hut, that maybe it would be better if I just conceded now. 'Hell, why waste any more time kiddo, once I get ahead I'm unbeatable'. 

I had let him win the ninth to go one up. Even Emma had cringed when she heard his words.

"Clark just can't help himself," I told his wife.

"I'm just saying I won't hold you to our deal."

"A deals a deal," I answered. "Besides, I already collected part of the price."

"It doesn't matter." I could see that Clark's talking and boasting had bothered her more than it had me.

"So do you want the kiss back then?" I then pursed my lips and kissed the air.

"You're crazy." There was a wry smile on Emma's lips.

"I'm still going to let him win ... but my price has gone up," I added, then turned and started towards the tenth tee.

"Gone up where?" I heard behind me. 

I kept the game close. In fact I was one up after fourteen. I let him win the sixteenth so we were even with two to play. He cheated on the seventeenth hole! The fucker actually cheated. He thought he'd got away with it without anyone seeing him. But, from twenty yards away I'd spotted it when he'd nudged his ball with his foot and turned a horrible lie in the rough into a good one. Emma saw it too. I could see she was going to protest, even call her husband out on it, but before she did, I shook my head no.

We halved the seventeenth and so went to the final hole even. A final hole on which Clark, in spite of a case of nerves that caused him to bogey the hole, won the match when I, who seemingly choked, took four to get down from a greenside bunker and handed my opponent the victory.

Clark couldn't stop from crowing when my putt slid by on the high side. And he couldn't help announcing to the crowd that had gathered around the eighteenth green that this brilliance and experience had carried him easily to victory over the callow Hopkins boy. 'The young pup's still got some growing up to do', Clark announced as he escorted me from the green.

Emma couldn't meet my eyes. She knew that the young pup wasn't happy.

Thursday July 22nd The Pond

"Guess what I brought besides the promised pie," my favorite married woman asked me as she dismounted from her bike and leaned it against the side porch. She was wearing a pair of tight orange shorts and had unleashed her long blond curls; they seemed to be dancing as they trailed down her back. Her full, high breasts were straining against the white bikini top that was attempting to hold them in. She had come to pay her debt.

"Your infamous beauty?" I suggested. 

"Ha, ha," she answered as she grabbed the hamper from her bike basket and walked towards me.

I just had on a pair of cut-off jean shorts. I'd been splitting logs for the woodpile when she'd pulled in and the sweat was pouring off me. 

"You're sweaty, you've got all sorts of little pieces of bark and wood on you," she said, then gingerly leaned in and quickly plucked a couple of wood chips off my chest. 

"You missed some," I answered. I'd have willingly stood there and led her pick stuff off my body all day.

"Do you want to eat now or swim first?" she asked.

"C'mon, we'll go have lunch at the pond, I'll wash there," I said as I took her hand.

Mom's end of the island, an piece of land inherited from her grandfather to the chagrin of many other family members, had only a modest cottage on it but did have its own pond, one of the few on the island, as well as, due to its location, almost complete privacy. The most valuable piece of real estate on the island, it had been left to the unmarried mother who'd had a child out of wedlock when she was sixteen years of age. A granddaughter who'd been nurtured by her loving grandparents after her parents had rejected her. The land, and a relatively large trust fund, had then been left to mom when they'd died in a tragic car accident when I was only four.

Emma Kruger was no stranger to the pond. In fact, besides my mom and I, she was the only person on the island who'd had free reign of the Hopkins acreage over the years. We'd spent a hundred afternoons there during my boyhood.

"He was an ass, he shouldn't have said those things," Emma said as we walked hand in hand through the copse that rose just west of the cottage.

"He cheated," I accused. "That'll cost you," I threatened.

"That's why I brought sandwiches too."

"Hah! Sandwiches? You're going to have to do better than that," I snorted as we broke through the last of the dense foliage and found ourselves in a sun filled glade about a hundred yards in diameter. The pool, fed by a trickling creek, was surrounded on all sides by a ring of wild, waist high summer flowers.


Emma's Summer Babysitting Job



"Oh my gawd ... I'd forgotten," Emma said as she stopped to take in the vista before her. "Eden must have been like this," she finally said as she let me retake her small soft hand and lead her down the overgrown path that led to the water and the small sunning platform I'd built two years earlier.

"You better not eat any of the forbidden pie then," I suggested.

"It was an apple mister smarty pants," she teased back. "When did you build this anyway? It's great," she asked when we broke through the waist high moat of flowers and she saw the new construction.

"You didn't ever get over here at all last year? Or the year before?" I asked as we stepped up onto the twelve by twelve platform that jutted out into the pond. Two Adirondack chairs sat regally looking out over the water. A three foot diameter matching table sat between them. "We build it two summers ago," I said as I walked over to the waterproof storage locker that was camouflaged by the thick grass at the end of the platform.

"Clark had that assignment in Europe two years ago ... then you guys weren't here last year," Emma answered. Mom and I had taken a trip across America the summer before and our two quick early trips to the island hadn't intersected with Emma's. And when we'd gotten back for the last two weeks of August she'd already gone; only her sister and her parents had still been here.

"You could have used it," I said as I pulled out the cushions for the chairs as well as the two foam mattresses that served as tanning beds.

"I'm always afraid to bring other people up here. It's yours and your moms place."

"And yours too."

"Not anymore," Emma answered, a touch of sadness in her voice.

"Always," I said as I threw the two mattresses, covered in a soft, bright, floral patterned cloth, down onto the platform.

"We should eat first," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith announced as she set her picnic hamper down on the table.

"I stink, I'm going for a quick swim first," I answered as I dropped my jeans and dove into the cool water. I was down to a pair of white briefs, briefs I almost lost as my body knifed into the water.

"Are you coming?" I yelled when I finally surfaced twenty-five feet out from the platform.

"You're just wearing your underwear," Emma complained as she pushed her tight shorts down her thighs. Her bathing suit panties matched her white top. Both in color and skimpiness.

"It's a bathing suit," I corrected.

"Is not," Emma yelled back as she ran across the platform and hurtled herself through the air. Ems had been a champion diver in high school. She sliced into the water with perfect form.

*** "It is underwear," she insisted five minutes later when we found ourselves back on the dock.

"It's a combination underwear/bathing suit, it's a new style ... from Poland," I answered as I wrapped a towel around my shoulders. I knew she could see the outline of my penis through the wet cloth.

"Poland? Yeah right," she scoffed. "It's very immodest. And you certainly shouldn't be parading around in your skivvies in front of a married woman," she said as she laid out the sandwiches and pie on the table.

"You shouldn't look then. And besides look who's talking." I let my eyes drift down over her dripping body. Slowly.

"What?" she asked but couldn't completely stop the blush that had started to leak into her face. "For your information young mister Hopkins, this is a perfectly respectable bathing suit from this summer's collection of--" 

"Of swingers international?" I supplied, then stuck out my tongue.

"Ha, ha. No my fashion challenged little friend. It comes from Jean Paul Gaultier. Who just happens to be a leading French designer. Stylishly chic women all over Europe are sporting this look this summer." Emma, who had always been one of the most casual, less pretentious girls on the island, was clearly getting a little embarrassed with my inspection.

"Well at least it must have been pretty inexpensive."

"Why?" She almost stamped her foot. Her nipples, surprisingly big ones, and clearly excited, were now poking out through their thin, wet covering.

"There's not much material you had to pay for." I suddenly knew she'd spent time before coming over trying on her various bathing suits. That the selection she'd finally made reflected a desire to wow me. An unconscious or conscious desire I wondered. "Besides," I added, "didn't I read somewhere that all French women go topless?"

"Shut up you." Emma was through taking any guff from me. And she couldn't help adding, "And this is coming from some guy who prances around in Polish bikini underwear in public. Gay Polish underwear," she said derisively. I turned around and faced away from her and before she could add another word, I pushed my underwear down my legs.

Her, "Maaaaaaa....aaaaatt!" was echoing around the lake as I wrapped my towel around my waist. 

"I'll let them dry while we eat," I said as I hung then on the arm of the chair. "Do you want me to hang yours up too?" I asked.

"Perv!"

We ate and talked, talked and ate. We'd hardly said two words to each other over the preceding three years but we had a lifetime of memories to talk about. We were both really, really happy for that hour or so. In fact I realized that I'd not been as happy since the day she'd married Clark four years earlier.

We talked about my mom, about Emma's job, about the many days the three of us had spent at the cottage, on the beach, by the pond, and at the grotto.

"In every picture from back then I'm naked," I complained as we compared memories. "You and mom are sitting around and two or four year old Matty is running around starkers."

"That's not true," Emma said laughing.

"And you and mom are naked in most of them too."

"We were not!" But the truth of the matter is that my mother was, and still is, a nudist at heart. And any time she and I, or even the three of us, had been at the pond or the grotto, she'd always gone naked. As her young son did. Even Emma, up til she was about ten or eleven, was usually without clothes when we were swimming. After that, with a teenager's modesty, she clothed up.

As I looked at Emma as we talked that day I wondered if she still sun bathed 'au natural' when no one was looking. 

"Mom said you took Katie out a couple of times last summer." Katie was Emma's younger sister, but still almost two years older than me. I'd wondered if Emma had heard about us. I could see my old babysitter wanted to change the subject. 

"Not really ... we didn't date, we just hung out a bit. At a couple of barbeques, campfires. All the kids were there."

"Dad said he was hoping you two would get together."

"She's too old for me."

"No she isn't. You would have been perfect for her."

"She'd just broken up with that idiot McLeod guy. That's the only reason she even looked at me," I said deprecatingly. "He wasn't very nice to her."

"I never liked him," Emma agreed. "Katie would have been lucky to have you."

"I talked it over with mom."

"You talked what over with your mom?"

"I don't know. Everything. Whether I should go out with Katie. If it was okay given everything else. And if I should...." I let my words hang.

"Should what?"

"After one campfire, after the kids and most of the adults had left ... it was right near the end of August. We'd had a few beers..."

"Yes?" she encouraged when I hadn't gone on for a while.

"We made out a bit."

"A bit what? What'd you do?" I didn't answer. I wanted Emma to have to work to draw every word out of me. And knowing Emma, and how curious she was, I knew she'd try.

"Did you neck or something?" Could Emma be jealous I wondered. Then realized I hoped so.

"A bit." A shy response.

"More than that?"

"No, not much. It's private, it's between just me and her."

"But she's my sister."

"We really didn't do anything, I'm serious," I said after another long silence.

"You must have done something."

"I wanted to."

"But you didn't?"

"I thought if we did it that it wouldn't be fair. That I'd be taking advantage of her."

"It? Do you mean--"

"Mom agreed with me."

"You told your mom?"

"I tell her everything. I always have."

"About girls? Sex?" Emma couldn't hide her disbelief. I knew I'd got her hooked. And I immediately decided to set it.

"I have ever since I did it the first time." 

"Ever since the first time you did what?" I let Mrs. Pemberton-Smith stew. "Your first time with a woman?" she eventually asked.

"Yeah. It was sorta weird. She was an older woman. Married. It was a surprise. I didn't plan it or anything ... then I felt bad about it ... guilty. But it felt so good." Emma almost choked in her rush to get her questions out.

"How old was she? "Who was she? "She was married? "Do I know her? "Was this last summer? "Was it on the island?"

"Mom was mad at first," I said softly. "She was a year older than mom."

"You slept with someone older than your mom? She was in her thirties?" Incredulity leaked from Emma's voice. I nodded. "What did your mom do?" 

"Yeah, her early thirties," I conceded.

I watched as Emma did the math in her head. "How old were you?"

"Mom and I had a long talk about it. We finally agreed that it was okay as long as I told her everything that happened. She said sex wasn't something to be ashamed about."

"Who was she? When was it?" the spittle was flying from poor Emma's mouth as she started to spit out the same questions.

"I'll tell you next time," I answered as I jumped to my feet. "Swim?" I asked as I went over to the railing and felt the underpants I'd jettisoned earlier.

"No, I don't want to swim, I want to--" 

"Yuck, still wet," I said, then walked to the edge of the platform and let the towel fall. I gave my sweet and happily married neighbor a good three seconds to contemplate my naked butt before I dove in. I swam to the other side of the pond before I stopped, then purposefully waited a few minutes there before I started back. I'd figured that it would take about five minutes for her curiosity to win out over her anger.

"Turn around, don't look," I ordered as I started to pull myself out of the water. 

Emma complied but not without muttering angrily. I took my time drying myself. Slowly ran the towel over my legs while standing naked less than six feet from her barely clad body. 

"Who was it?" Her patience was coming to an end. 

"I'll tell you next time."

"There won't be a next time Matthew Hopkins, not if you act like this," she answered as she started to turn back towards me. I'd just stepped into my jean shorts and had them just up over my knee when I heard her grunt of surprise. "Unnnnhhhh." My cock was semi erect.

"I told you not to look," I chastised as I wiggled my hips trying to get the jeans all the way up. Emma, silent, simply watched as I put my hand down and stuffed my still growing cock inside the jeans. Then she turned and started to march away.

I only caught up to her when we were about halfway back to the cottage. Before I could say a word she blurted, "I'm glad my sister got away from you before you did something bad to her--" 

"Emma, next time we get together there's something else I want to ask you about."

"There's not going to be another time." Firm. Decisive.

"It's about Nancy... I asked mom about it but I'd like another girl's opinion. Someone closer to her age."

"Nancy? That's the girl at the cafe?" Good I thought, Emma's been checking up on me.

"We've been sorta going out."

"How many girls have you been going out with anyway?" Hook, line and sinker.

Two minutes later Emma had her bike in hand and was preparing to ride away. It was time for one last shot. "You know Emma, its because of you that I didn't sleep with your sister."

"Because of me?" 

"I also slept with the married woman because of you."

"How could that be my fault?"

"It was the week after you got married."

"Whaaaaaaaaaat!"

"We can talk about it next time." Emma Pemberton-Smith, a university graduate, a teacher of impressionable young children, and a happily married young woman, then proceeded to let out a string of profanities that would have given credit to a ghetto gang banger. I smiled throughout.

Wednesday July 29th Emma's House

I didn't get a chance to talk to Emma for the next four days. Of course I saw her at the beach and in the town from a distance a couple of times. And at a beach barbeque the Young family held on Saturday night. But it was the weekend and her husband Clark was back. He, like so many of the commuters, arrived on the seven p.m. ferry every Friday night and then stayed until leaving on the six a.m. ferry on Monday morning. Mom, working in the city for the summer, was following the same schedule. 

I''d slept with Nancy Thursday night. And because mom was still in town we were able to do it in my own bed. Which I gotta tell you, is lot better than doing it on the sandy beach. I know, I know, the whole 'making love on a deserted beach' thing sounds romantic and sexy, but I can tell you from experience, it doesn't take too many grains of sand getting into the wrong place to make the experience less than perfect. 

Then I'd barbecued chicken for mom when she arrived on Friday night. And then we'd whispered our secrets to each other til well after midnight. I told her all about Emma. About my hopes.

My mother liked Emma almost as much as I did. She was the younger sister she'd never had. The daughter she'd never had. And like me, and probably for the same reasons, she'd never liked Clark.

"She should have waited for you," mom agreed after I'd recounted to her Emma's and my afternoon at the pond. I nodded. 

"If only I'd been older--"

"Why haven't they had a child yet anyway?"

"I don't know." I'd never thought to ask Emma. 

"Then maybe it's not too late for you," mom answered. 

"You wouldn't mind?" I asked. Mom just smiled.

***

I worked around the cottage all day Monday and Tuesday and most of Wednesday morning.

But at 11:15 a.m. I was knocking on my nearest neighbor's door. I had a brightly wrapped package in my hand and a broad smile on my face when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith opened the door.

"Oh it's you," she welcomed in a somewhat inhospitable voice. She was wearing a pale yellow summer dress. She was beautiful. I continued to smile. Emma, after a minute watching me, simply turned and started walking back into the cottage. Really better described as a house, the three story home featured an open plan ground floor that invariably led one's eyes to the wall of windows that looked out onto the gardens beyond. Emma had been given the place by her grandparents on her wedding day. Their cottage, and Emma's parents one, lay another two hundred yards farther down the road.

When Emma reached the wall of windows she stopped and turned. I was still standing in the doorway, the silly grin still on my face. "Well are you coming in or not? I'm very busy today," she added as I started across the room toward her. Backlit by the sun streaming in the windows her dress had become almost transparent. 

"What's that anyway?" she asked, unable to control her curiosity, as she pointed at the package in my hand.

"A present from the Hopkins, mother and son," I answered as I offered Emma the gift.

"It's not my birthday," she said even as she accepted the present. 

"Yeah but we both love you."

Emma was delighted with the gift, so much so that she insisted I stay for lunch. 

"Shall we eat down on the beach?" I asked.

"Or we could sunbathe upstairs," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith suggested. While I had been in the cottage before, I'd never received a tour of the upstairs.

"We have a sun deck," Emma, laden with a full tray, said as she led me upstairs five minutes later. "It's built off the master bedroom. Did you bring your suit?"

"Do I need one?"

"You're not wearing your stupid Polish underwear in my house," she warned. "You can borrow one of Clarks. They're in his closet," she said as she pointed to the large walk-in closet at the end of the room. "I'll change and put the food out," she added as she walked towards the doors at the other end of the room.

Clark had five or six bathing suits hanging on a couple of pegs -- some surfer suits, Billabongs, and a couple of Tommy Bahama ones. And one other. I started to laugh the second I saw it. Then dropped my shorts and underwear and pulled it on.

"What's so funny?" I heard called from the other side of the door. Instead of answering I just opened the door and stepped out into the room. Emma, sporting a black bikini this time, one just as sexy as the one she'd worn the other day, was attaching the top when I emerged.

As soon as she saw me she started to blush. Completely surprised, and clearly embarrassed, she let the bra slip through her fingers. "That not Clarks... not really," she stammered as her hands rushed to cover her bared breasts. Great breasts.

"It's not?" I asked as I went into a Mr. Universe pose. The thong, and that's what it was, and a very immodest one at that, was nothing more than a pink mesh sac held in place by a thin string that circled my waist. "And you called my briefs gay?" I accused as I pumped my hips towards her.

"It was a joke ... he's never worn them..."

"Is Clark gay? Is that it?" I asked as I walked towards the sun deck.

"He is not! Please Matt, take them off," she implored. So I did. Simply let them fall to her bedroom floor and then walked out onto the deck. I was lying on my stomach, my head up and looking sideways, when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith emerged into the sunlight seconds later. She'd attached her top.

"You'll have to put something on," she ordered. 

I ignored her request. Instead I asked, "Are you and Clark up to some of these weird sexual hijinks too?"

In her rush to explain that she'd given Clark the gift as a joke, that he'd absolutely never worn it, cross her heart, Emma didn't immediately grasp the implication of the 'too' in my question.

"Anyway, I think we should talk about Nancy now."

"We have to eat first. And I need someone to spread the lotion on my back."

"I'm not touching your bum," Emma promised as she took the tube of lotion in hand. 

"It'll burn if you don't," I complained. Ultimately, she did give my ass a quick application of lotion. Once finished I offered to reciprocate. Without really agreeing she did lie down on her stomach. And she didn't complain when I undid the strap of her top. "You don't want a line there, it'll look terrible when you're wearing your summer dresses," I said as I applied the lotion. Mind you there wasn't even a hint of a line on her tanned back which clearly demonstrated that tanning topless was her norm.

It was only when my palms started to caress the lotion into her upper thighs that I felt a tremor course through her body. "You don't want a white bum either," I said as I tentatively started to pull her panties down. I expected resistance but after just a second I felt Emma lift her hips fractionally off the mat. An unvoiced but clear permission.

"So, you have been sunbathing naked," I accused when it became clear that Emma's rear end was as tanned as the rest of her.

"Only in private," she answered. I took my time. Emma had a great rear end!

"Okay, can we finally talk about Nancy now?" she asked when I had finished.

"Ems, can we talk about something else first? Another problem I have." We were both lying on our stomachs, side by side on the futon she and Clark used as a sun bed. We were naked. Our faces, turned toward each other were only inches apart. We were both sexually aroused. She hadn't been able to hide her body's reactions from my fingers.

"Not another girl problem?"

"Have you ever tied up Clark?" I asked instead of answering her question.

"Tied up Clark? Do you think because of the thong that we're some sort of--" The question had completely baffled her.




Emma's Summer Babysitting Job



"Or let him tie you up?" I could see she thought I was crazy. "You know, during ... sex."

"Sex?" I nodded. "Why, did you let someone tie you up?" I shook my head no. "You tied someone up?" Again I signaled no. "Like that Marquis de Sadism guy?" she asked.

"I only saw it by accident."

"Saw what? On the internet?" I'd definitely captured her attention.

"She'd attached him to the four corners of her bed. With handcuffs. He was on his stomach like we are but she'd put a big pillow under his stomach so that his bum was up in the air. Like this," I added as I got on my knees. As Emma watched me I knew she couldn't help but see my cock hanging down. She was so engrossed in my tale that it didn't register.

"Who did it? Someone I know?"

"She'd stuffed a lemon in his mouth so he couldn't talk."

"A lemon?" Emma, grimacing, was horrified.

"I'd just gone over to their place to deliver one of mom's decorative bowls. It was just a few weeks ago. Mom had just finished it the weekend before. When she answered the door she was just wearing a negligee."

"Someone on the island?"

"I could see she was nervous but something else too. She was excited. Her ... nipples were--"

"Were what? Whose?"

"And then she invited me in. Said she'd just grab her purse from the bedroom ... that it'd just take a second to get me the money she owed mom."

"What happened?" Emma had unconsciously risen herself up on her elbows as I'd spoken, exposing almost all of her breasts.

"I heard her talking with someone when she was gone. Then when she finally came back out she left her bedroom door open. She put her purse on the dining room table. Then when she bent over to get her wallet out of it I could see--"

"See what?"

"Her breasts. Her nipples. She knew I was watching. She was smiling. I knew--"

"Knew what?"

"Then she looked right into my eyes. And then she turned slowly and looked back into her bedroom. I did too. I could see him. He was lying naked on his stomach, with his ass in the air. Mr. Thomas couldn't see me, he was turned away." 

"Mr. and Mrs. Thomas?" Complete incredulity. I nodded. I watched Emma as she tried to assimilate the fact that people she'd known most of her life were doing these things. "But they're so normal," she protested. In her excitement she'd turned her body and rolled onto her side, completely exposing herself to me. Her blond pubes.

"Then she leaned over and whispered in my ear, 'would you like to watch'."

"She did not! Did you?" Emma asked breathlessly. I nodded. "What did they do?"

"It was weird. I watched from the doorway. She attached this thing to herself. Then she got up on the bed ... behind him."

"What did she attach?" Emma asked when I didn't go on.

"After she'd finished she blindfolded him."

"After she finished what?"

"Doing it. Then she came over and knelt down in front of me. She put me in her mouth."

"Your penis?" I nodded. "Oh my gawd! Mrs. Thomas gave you a blow job?"

"Then she led me over to the bed. She lay down on her husband's back. Then I--"

"You had sex with her?" 

I nodded. "She kept yelling, 'fuck me baby, fuck me with your big teenage cock'. It was crazy. Mr. Thomas didn't even know who his wife was being fucked by."

"She should be shot. What a slut! They're animals." As Emma angrily spat out her denunciations of her neighbors I simply lay back and enjoyed her nudity.

"I'm definitely not going to go back," I offered when she'd finally quieted down.

"You certainly aren't," Emma agreed. "They're pigs. They should be reported to the police."

"Mom said everyone's different, that each of us has to find our own way. That if they weren't hurting anyone--"

"Their own fucking way?" Emma normally didn't use the 'f' word. "And you told your mom about them?"

"I tell her everything."

"Wasn't she mad at them?"

Of course we didn't get to talk about Nancy that afternoon. Emma, in her excitement, even forgot to ask about the married woman I'd lost my virginity to. It was only when I was dressed and ready to leave that she remembered my words from the previous week.

"You were going to tell me today about why my marriage caused you to lose your virginity," she said as I walked down the stairs.

"Next time," I promised.

"Next time? When?"

"Yeah, I really want to ask you what you think I should do about the baby."

"Baaaaaaybeeeeeeeeeee?"

Tuesday August 4th The grotto 

The grotto had been formed sometime long in the islands geological past. Eons of wave action had cut first a cave under the cliffs at the very easternmost end of the island, then later had collapsed a part of the cliff. What had been left was a small lagoon, completely surrounded by fifteen foot high mini cliffs except for a three foot wide angled cut that let the ocean in. Given that mom owned the complete eastern tip of the island it had been and still remained our private secret. We'd always called it the grotto.

"We're leaving our clothes on today," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith announced the second we'd climbed down the steps that had been hacked roughly out of the rocks a hundred years ago and found ourselves on the beach. It had been almost a week since we'd had our last 'date'. Since my visit to Emma's house the Wednesday before I'd gone out with Nancy on Thursday, had spend Friday sailing, had gone to a teenagers beach bonfire party Saturday, and had spent most of Sunday hanging with my mom. Of course I'd seen Emma but we hadn't exchanged more than a few words. Mind you she and mom had spent about an hour together huddled in conversation on the beach Sunday afternoon. Mom reported to me that my old babysitter had been very interested in the sex life of her old charge. 

I'd called her Monday afternoon. "If you're not busy we could go to the grotto tomorrow," I'd offered. After a variety of excuses, weak ones that she clearly hoped I'd not accept, she'd agreed. Emma loved the grotto.

"Yes Emma," I agreed to her clothing demand, using a five year old boy's voice. The voice of my youth.

"You think you're funny, don't you." Emma was smiling.

Once I'd dropped the folding beach chairs, the towels, the diving equipment and other assorted beach items I'd toted onto the warm sand, I simply stood up and then quickly shucked my shorts.

"You're terrible. You said you wouldn't." But there was no anger in her words. And she clearly hadn't checked me down below before she'd spoken.

"It's your fault."

"Everything's my fault according to you." I didn't have to answer because her next words told me she'd finally let her eyes drop. "Ohhhh myyy Gaaawd!"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You're ... you're shaved," she stammered out. She was staring now.

"She asked me to."

"Who did?"

"I didn't really want to."

"It looks ... I mean it makes you look like a... was it Mrs. Thomas?"

"Nancy," I said softly. Then I bent down and grabbed the tube of sunscreen. After undoing the top I offered it to her. "Would you like to do the honors?" 

"Married women don't touch shaven penises of little boys," she answered dismissively. 

"You used to when I was young."

"I did not."

"There's a picture of you in one of mom's old albums showing you putting sunscreen on me. It was taken right here and I was naked."

"Hah, how old were you?"

"And both you and mom were naked too." 

"Your mom's a nudist," Emma shot back. But she was watching my hand as I spread a big gob of cream over my cock.

"Look who's talking. There's not a tan line anywhere on your body," I accused.

"In private only," Emma responded. "Why'd she want you to shave it anyway?"

"Some girl thing. Does it look stupid?" I asked as I held my cock up in my hand.

"Yes. And it's certainly bigger than it used to be." 

"Do you think it's too big?" Emma looked away. 

"Have you ever let Clark shave you?" Emma shook her head no. "Has he ever asked you to shave?" She again shook her head no but this time a lot less convincingly.

"Liar."

"I'm not."

"I was a little nervous when she had the razor in her hand," I admitted as I continued to hold my penis up. 

"When did she do it?" Emma was still watching.

"Thursday night. It's already starting to grow again. It feels rough, itchy," I said as I ran my fingers across the stubble that had emerged above my cock.

"It does?" Emma was clearly interested.

"Here, touch it," I offered as I reached for her hand. 

"I shouldn't ... what if--" she started but then stopped when her fingers touched my stomach. Curious, she couldn't stop her hand from doing a complete pass over the shaven area. Then a second. My cock was bobbing excitedly in the air.

"I've either got to shave it again or let it grow out. What do you think I should do?" I asked as her hand lingered. She shook her head in indecision.

"I brought some shaving cream and a razor," I said, then bent over and reached into my knapsack.

"You did? To the beach?"

"Do you want to watch?" She didn't answer but of course she did. Which we both knew. "I'll get wet first," I told her then ran into the warm water. A minute later I was back, dripping water. I sat on my towel and picked up the shaving cream.

"Do you want to have the honor of creaming me?" I asked as I held up the can. She was nodding her head no as I stuck the can of shaving cream into her palm. "You have to shake it first," I instructed.

"I know. I shave my legs, my underarms you doofus," she said as she started to shake the can. I lay back on my towel.

"Spray all around, everywhere." 

The first spray, poorly aimed, splashed onto the inner part of my left thigh and down onto my balls. The second wasn't much more accurately delivered.

"It's in the way," Emma complained as she tried to use the can to move my penis, which was then fully erect and up against my stomach.

"Hold it out of the way," I suggested, feigning impatience. She looked for a second that she was going to say something, that she was going to refuse, but then instead tentatively moved her free hand toward my cock. Gingerly she grabbed it between her thumb and middle finger and slowly moved it to the side while aiming the shaving cream nozzle at the other side of my groin.

And that's the how and why of Mrs. Pemberton-Smith's first handling of the adult penis of Matthew Hopkins. Once started, a clearly fascinated Emma took her time applying the foamy white cream to my genitals. And before she'd finished the once tentative hold she'd had on me had turned into quite a firm palming. By the time she had finished a soapy Mr. Penis had felt more than ready to add his own foamy sperm to the mix. I did all I could to restrain him.

Emma pretended to have no interest in doing the actual shaving when I finally got around to asking her. "It's difficult to shave yourself, especially at this angle, I might cut myself," I'd complained as I offered her the razor.

"I don't want to ... it's really not right," the married woman replied as she accepted to razor, "but knowing you you'd probably cut it off." So again the young beauty took matters in hand so to speak, holding Mr. Penis both firmly and warmly, as she carefully shaved every little curling hair from my genitals.

I didn't cum during the procedure. I got very, very close but in the end I restrained myself. Somehow. Afterwards we swam together. And while we were frolicking in the gentle waves I managed to first, deftly remove her top, and then later her bottom.

She didn't really complain. And, once we were back on land and lying on our towels, it soon became clear that she welcomed the odd glance I tossed her way. In fact, instead of lying on her stomach she'd lain on her back. Nor did she complain when I rolled onto my side and simply looked down at her. 

"So are you now finally ready to tell me about the married woman, the baby and why my marriage was to blame?" she finally asked.

"First I'm going to do something for my good buddy Clark," I answered.

"For Clark?"

"Something I know he's always wanted."

"What?" In answer I reached for the can of shaving cream.

"Oh no you're not." Emma, quick as a cat, tried to escape. I caught her left ankle at the last second. As she tried to squirm away I caught her other ankle.

"I don't want you to."

"It'll grow back."

Emma stopped struggling. Instead she lay back. "What'll Clark say?"

"Tell him you did it because you know he's going to win the Golf Championship this weekend." Clark, after beating me, had had to wait to find out his opponent in the finals. The match had now been set for the following Saturday. "That you love him so much that you wanted to inspire him to his greatest victory." I let go of Emma's legs as I spoke and reached again for the can. Instead of moving away she spread her legs wider.

"It's beautiful," I said as I placed myself on my knees between hers.

"What is?" she asked.

"Your blond curls, your pretty pink pussy," I answered as I ran my fingers lovingly through her pubic hairs.

"You'll have to be careful," she warned as I brought the can's nozzle to her sex. I aimed the first foamy emission right at the pink clitoris that was sitting erect in all its glory at the top of her exposed opening. 

I was extremely careful. Softly, almost caressingly, I moved the razor over her silken skin. I used my free hand to protect her sex as the stainless steel blade cleared away, hair by hair, the blond jungle. While the blade worked its magic the middle finger of my other hand gently slid back and forth from her clitoris to the channel below. I caressed, I didn't penetrate.

Afterwards I lifted her up into my arms and waded out into the water.

"I look like a little girl," Emma complained minutes later when I'd finished washing the soapy lather from her body and we'd exited the sea.

"You look beautiful."

"What if Clark doesn't like it?" she asked as inspected herself, spreading the lips of her pussy as she looked down at it.

"He'll think he's made a hole-in-one," I said as I sat back down on my knees on the towel. "C'mon here, let me see it."

"See what?" she asked but she still walked over towards me, only stopping when her shaven mound was inches from my face.

I looked up into her eyes. Then back down. Then back up. "Closer," I ordered as I slid my hands up the outside of her legs, stopping only when I had both of her cheeks in my palms, She didn't resist as I pulled her shaven bareness against my face. Then I tasted her.

Some men don't like going down on a woman. Those are men who've never eaten someone like Emma. Fresh, clean, aromatic and moist, juicy pussy is a treat to all ones senses. A highly sexed man's touch and smell and sight and taste are all aroused when he sups between the legs of a beautiful woman. 

My cock raged in impatience as I ate her.

Emma orgasm-ed quickly the first time. I kept eating and sucking and licking and tasting her until a second, a much more cataclysmic one, exploded outward from her center. Her cries of ecstasy echoed around between the cliffs as I lapped up her sexual emissions.

***

"We shouldn't have done that, it was wrong." Emma was lying on her back, legs splayed, the lips of her pussy engorged and open, her breath still coming in small, urgent gasps, when she said those words. The sweet aroma of her orgasm still hovered in the air.

"I'm married." I didn't answer, instead simply rocked back a little. I was still on my knees between her legs. "It was my fault as much as yours," she admitted. "Who taught you to do that anyway?" I let her talk.

"I'm lucky it was you. If it hadn't been I don't know what would have happened--" Her voice trailed off. Her eyes left mine and curved downward towards my cock.

"What do you think would have happened?' I encouraged.

"If you weren't my very best friend you would have done things ... I know you would have. Men things."

"What men things?" I asked as I slowly stroked my cock.

"Sex things," Emma finally answered. "With your cock ... your big, hard teenage cock." 

"But I'm your friend," I protested.

"But what if I was Nancy? What would you have done if it had been Nancy lying here?"

"I'd never do the same thing to you that I'd do to Nancy," I said as I leaned over towards my love. Only when I was on my elbows and knees, my elbows planted on each side of Emma's chest, and with my face inches from hers, did I stop.

"You'd fuck Nancy, I know you would. Even if she didn't want you to it wouldn't matter. You're too strong, you'd force her to. You're a strong man. A girl could never stop you. You'd put your big cock deep inside of her and fuck her, wouldn't you? You'd make her beg for it. You could make me beg for it."

"If it was you I'd do this," I said as my lips slowly descended onto hers. "I'd kiss her and love her," I whispered into her mouth as our lips joined. It was one of those kisses that start soft and gentle but which suddenly become something else. For what seemed like minutes our mouths urgently dueled. Our tongues explored. We finally disengaged. Her breast was heaving. Her nipples were punching into my chest. My, cock, huge and hard, was trapped between our stomachs.

"Then what would you do?" she gasped out.

"I'd touch you," I answered as my hand sought out and then found her breast.

"And then what?" she demanded. She was squirming under me. My hand quickly slipped down onto her sex. Then inside. My married baby sitter groaned softly. Still moist from my earlier oral ministrations my finger easily slipped inside.

"Then you'd fuck her wouldn't you?"

"But you're not her," I answered as I slowly pulled my finger out.

"Most men wouldn't care. Real men like you would never stop. Your cock wouldn't let you." Her invitation was clear.

"She'd have to ask me."

"Ask you what?" she demanded. In answer I reached for her hand and forced it between our bodies and onto my cock.

"She'd have to ask you to fuck her? Is that it?" Her hand started to move over my shaft. And then I felt her position it at her moist opening.

"You'd have to ask me to be your lover," I whispered.

"You could just fuck me. You don't need my permission." As she talked she moved her body and squeezed my cockhead between her lower lips. 

"I'd never force you, never," I promised Emma, then lowered my lips to hers. As we kissed I pulled my penis back, freeing my cock even as she tried to hold me close.

"Fuck me." It was a demand. Again her fingers captured me. I kissed her again. She rubbed my cock urgently, needily up and down her slit.

"I love you. Please Matt, make love to me ... pleeeeeease. Fuck your Emma."

A second later I was inside her. Slowly, unhurriedly, I filled her.

It was a slow lovemaking. Every nerve in our bodies ignited into a frenzy of demanding urgency. Even though already moist from my oral stimulation, she moaned as my size stretched her. 

And then it just worked. For both of us. In a way that I'd never experienced before. And I knew without her saying a word that she was feeling exactly the same.

It wasn't fucking. Or simple penetration and pumping. It was love. It was two becoming one. It was cries of pleasure. It was a tight, moist, urgent joining. It was a spurting of life deep into the woman I loved. It was Emma's insides opening as they orgasm-ed, welcoming the seed that would produce our baby.

But it was a million other things. Indescribable things.

***

"It's still hard." I smiled in answer, then rolled our bodies so that she ended up on top of me. I was still fully erect and inside her.

"Now it's your turn to make love to me Mrs. Pemberton-Smith," I invited.

"Do you really want me too? Does my little boy want his babysitter to fuck him?" she asked as she sat up so she was straddling me. "Has Matty been a good little boy?" she asked as she slowly lifted her hips up until only my cockhead was inside her. Then, after another quick movement of her hips, I popped free. Her soft palm circled my sticky hardness.




Emma's Summer Babysitting Job



"Does little Mr. Hopkins want Emma to kiss his cock?" I simply lay back, arms outstretched, and waited. I almost screamed when Emma's tongue moistly circled the purple bulb. Then she took him into her mouth. She took her time. She fondled my balls as she licked and sucked and kissed me. And all the while, between mouthfuls, she talked. Dirty talk. To both me and my penis.

And finally she sat back up and brought my penis back to her opening, to the opening that was still oozing out my first ejaculation. "Emma's going to fuck you now Matty, she's going to fuck you because you were always such a sweet little boy," she said as she lowered herself slowly down over the shaft. Then, once she'd been fully speared, she started to ride me.

***

"We can't ever do this again," Emma said softly some time later. We were entwined, and she was watching me as her cheek rested gently against my chest. One of her hands was lightly holding my flaccid cock. I was stroking her long blond curls. She was full of my sperm. In response to her words I mounted her a third time.

A half hour later we climbed up the grotto cliff and went home.

The next morning I walked through her front door at nine thirty. I found her in her bath. I climbed in.

"We weren't ever supposed to do this again, it's wrong," she said as I wrapped my arms around her.

"You're going to have my baby," I told her after we'd splashed half the tub water onto the bathroom floor during our lovemaking.

"I know," she answered.

We made love for the rest of the week. Right up until a half hour before the seven p.m. ferry carrying her husband and my mother landed. And we were standing shoulder to shoulder on the dock when mom and Clark hurried down the gangplank. Emma was full of my sperm. She was also pregnant with my baby.

I even said, and meant, some friendly words to Clark when he rushed up to his wife. Watching him hugging Emma I realized I no longer had any hard feelings towards the man I'd cuckolded. It didn't matter any more.

Later that evening, my mother and I, a wine bottle between us, sat talking on the beach until the sun came up. 

"I'm too young to be a grandmother," she complained when I told her the news. But there was no doubt she was happy.

The Hopkins House, Monday August 10th

It was Monday afternoon. Clark had gone back to the city. Mom, who was taking a week of vacation, had stayed on the island. I'd been in Clark's bed since noon hour. With his wife. "Mom knows," I told Emma as we lay recovering from our latest coupling.

"You didn't tell her?" 

"Uh huh. And she's expecting you to come to dinner tonight."

"Tonight? But what will I say?"

***

I could see that Emma was nervous when she arrived at our cottage just after seven. So I went outside to prepare the coals for the barbecue and let them talk.

When I came back inside twenty minutes later they were both smiling. I have no idea what they'd said to each other. But it turned into a great evening. The food was great and the conversation was just a warm, friendly continuation of the thousands we'd had over the years. We sipped wine. Told jokes and laughed. And later, Emma didn't protest when I put my arm around her as we sat nestled together on the couch.

And quite a while later, when Mrs. Pemberton-Smith suggested she'd probably better go home, mom poopaw-ed the idea. "Don't be silly. I'll leave you two alone; you certainly don't need an old woman getting in your way." Emma opened her mouth to protest but before she could get a word out mom was gone. 

"I can't stay!" Emma protested.

I carried her to my bedroom. Our lovemaking that night was relatively noisy. "Don't make so much noise," Emma cautioned me more than once. "We'll wake her." 

But I'd never been more excited. Fucking Emma while knowing that my mother, separated from us by a thin wall, could hear everything we did. And besides, it was Emma who made most of the noise. 

At about eight-thirty the next morning there was a knock on the bedroom door. Mom had a full tray in her hands. Breakfast in bed was served.

And so Emma moved in with us. During the week that is. She spent her nights in my bed, moaning out her pleasure as mom slept in the next room. During the days the three of us sunbathed and swam at either the pool or the grotto, and even late at night we skinny dipped in the ocean in the darkness.

Two weeks later I left the island to get prepared for university. We didn't make any promises. "You be good," were the last words she whispered to me as we stood at the base of the gangway. There was a tear sliding down Emma's cheek.

Nine Months Later: April 27th 2010

I'd just walked out of my second to last final when my cell phone started to vibrate. I smiled when I saw who was calling. "Hey mom, are you checking up on me already? I told you, this one was going to be a piece of cake. I aced it." 

"My labor's started."

"WHAAAAT! Where are you? Are you okay? I thought it wasn't supposed to be until next week."

"I'm fine. I'm on my way to the hospital. Mr. Williams offered me a ride." 

I looked at my watch. "I'm on my way ... I'll be there by three," I promised. I'd already started to run across the quad before I'd got the words out. 

"Don't you dare speed," mom warned as I rushed up the stairs towards my residences front door. Ten minutes later I was roaring out of the parking lot on my motorcycle. Two hours and thirty-seven minutes later I pulled up in front of the Brigham and Women's Hospital. Five minutes later I was holding my mother's hand.

"You made it!" mom said the second she saw me. I couldn't miss the relief in her face.

"You thought I was going to miss the birth of my sister?"

"What about your last exam?" she asked.

"It's not til next Monday," I told her. Fuck, who cared when this was going on. Mom's gynecologist had been dubious when mom had told her months earlier that she wanted her son to attend the birth. In fact she told mom that it would be very unusual, that usually only father's were allowed to attend. 'The father's a bum', mom had responded. 'It's Matthew who's going to help me raise my daughter'.

So, two hours after arriving at the hospital, scrubbed up and wearing a hospital gown, I watched my sister, an extraordinarily beautiful baby, slip out of my mother and enter the world. Belinda Emma Hopkins weighed eight pounds and three ounces and was crying when the doctor placed her in my arms. She stopped immediately when I cuddled her up against me. She got the Belinda from mom's grandmother, Emma of course from you know who.

Minutes later, with mom and I still grinning like crazed fools and holding hands, we watched as they carried little Belle from the room. "So I guess you did beat Emma after all," I congratulated mom.

"And she was due a week before me," mom agreed proudly.

"Emma Pemberton-Smith?" mom's gynecologist asked. 

Mom nodded. Mom and Emma had used the same gynecologist and had spent all sorts of time together over the previous six months. They'd actually made a bet on who would produce first.

Doctor Welles started to laugh. "They just pulled in an hour ago. You didn't beat her by much Ms. Hopkins."

'No way," I exclaimed.

Fifteen minutes later, after I'd accompanyed mom back to her room, I went looking for Emma. Within minutes I found Clark, gowned and looking forlorn as he sat alone in a hospital waiting room.

"You're mother delivered?" he asked when he recognized me. I nodded. "Everything okay?"

"Perfect," I agreed as I sat next to him. It took him a second but he finally noticed the gown.

"You were there?" I nodded again.

"Emma wants me to be there too," he said dubiously.

"That's great."

"I'm not going. I can't. I thought I could but there's no way. I'll be sick ... I'll screw up the whole thing ... I've been worrying about it for weeks." We talked for ten minutes. Or at least he talked at me. Explanations. Excuses. I even heard how he'd fainted the last time he'd been in the hospital. "She's going to be pissed ... I know she is," he said. As he mulled over the possibilities, trying to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of attending or not attending the answer suddenly hit him.

"You could do it! With your mask and gown on who the hell is going to notice the difference?" I told him I didn't think it would work. "Emma's delivering a baby. The doc and nurses are delivering it. How much attention do you think they'll be paying you," he argued. I lifted my eyes to the sky. It didn't faze him at all. "Fuck Matt, you've got to help me. I'll owe you big time if do this little thing for me. Christ Matty," he begged, "I'll even let you win if we play in the Club Championship this year."

I eventually agreed. But my motivation had nothing to do with golf. Clark's last words of advice to me were, "If anyone talks to you or asks a question just mumble." Yeah right. Mind you it was I who'd impregnated his wife so I guess it wasn't too much to ask.

Of course both Emma and the doctor immediately recognized me. I just help up my hands in a helpless gesture and didn't say a word. Five minutes later, Anne Isobel Kruger Pemberton-Smith made her appearance in the world. The Isobel was in honor of my mom. The little imp smiled when she was put in her father's arms. Emma smiled. The doctor looked at me as if she had a hundred questions for me.

"It's a long story," I told her, then handed the baby to her mother and left the room to tell Clark he had a beautiful and healthy daughter.

"They thought you were me?" he asked hopefully.

"No problem bro," I answered, gave him a quick high five, then I went to look to see how my mom was doing. 

July 25th 2010 Hopkins Island

Mom and I didn't go to the island until late July this year. I'd rushed back to school after the births and then had written my final exam before returning to the city. Mom hadn't wanted to leave the city until she was pretty sure every little thing was okay. So I'd got a job, a trainee thing one of my great uncles had arranged with one of the city's private bankers and had spent most of May, June and July happily toiling away during the day and then returning every night to mom and my new sibling. When mom finally decided she was ready to go to the island I gave my notice and went with her.

I hadn't seen Emma since the day of my daughter's birth. She'd spent May with her mother before she'd gone to the island where her mom and sister had been eagerly awaiting her.

***

"Hey you," I heard from behind and to my left as I walked in the front door. I'd just got back from a quick grocery trip into town. Mom and I had arrived on the noon hour ferry. I turned. She was more beautiful than ever.

"Maybe you haven't heard yet ... I had a baby," Emma says.

"You did? You know, I thought I'd heard something to that effect."

"Uh huh. This is she."

"She's almost as beautiful as her mom," I said as I put my arm around Emma while I lightly caressed the hair of three month old Anne Isobel Kruger Pemberton-Smith.

"Ha! I'm old and fat, and my breasts are--" 

"Perfect," I said reverentially. "And bigger too, which is good," I complimented as I ogled Emma's chest.

"Men!" Emma scoffed.

"They have one track minds ... breasts, breasts, breasts," mom offered from across the room. But before Emma could agree my lips were on hers.

Emma ate with us that night. Clark was still in town and not due on the island for another three days. And during dinner I learned that he'd never owned up to not having been in the delivery room.

"You should hear him," Emma confided over dinner, laughing as she told us the story. "He's now able to give a second by second description of the most harrowing and exciting experience in his life." Mom and I laughed. "He'll probably even tell it to you Matt. I think he's told it so many times now that he believes it." 

Both mothers fed their babies during the meal. Then they did it again later as we sat talking in the living room. My mother had not an ounce of shyness in her. "It's the most natural thing in the world, that's why god designed them this way," my mother had told me her first day back from the hospital. And since that first day she'd never showed any embarrassment when she'd fed my sister in front of me. 

Emma, clearly not as confident, had looked at me worriedly when mom had first bared herself that night. "They're just boobs Emma," mom challenged. "Besides, you're boyfriend spent the first six months of his life sucking from them."

"But not from mine," Emma said shyly even as she brought her daughter to her chest. "And he's not my boyfriend."

"Leave some for me," I advised my daughter.

"There's none for you Matthew Hopkins," Mrs. Pemberton-Smith advised firmly. 

As it turned out I drank from the full breasts of the lovely Emma the next afternoon. Deeply. The three of us had been sitting naked, cross-legged on the sun mats as the two babies suckled at their mother's teats. With baby Anne at her mother's left nipple I dipped my head and captured her right one. 

"You're so bad," she complained even as her hand moved to support my head. "What will your mom think?"

In fact Mom seemed quite happy about it. But she did warn Emma, "Watch out Ems, when he was a little baby once he'd latched on he wouldn't let go."

Later, while the two babies rested in their bassinets, and while mom lay tanning on the opposite bank, I made love to Emma for the first time in almost twelve months.

The days and weeks that followed settled into an easy routine for the five of us - Emma spent most of her time with us during the week and then she'd disappear back to Clark for the weekends. I spent my weekends with mom and sis or with the kids I'd grown up with.

Strangely I found that the dislike I'd always had of Clark had disappeared. Nor was I jealous of the weekends Emma spent with him. For now I needed him to be a loving father for my daughter.

I played Clark in the quarter-finals of the Club Championship. I killed him. He winked at me afterwards. Did he really think he'd let me win?

The summer passed. Too quickly. 

It was only near the end of August that we talked about the future. "So how many kids are we going to have?" I asked her one afternoon. We were alone in the grotto. We were naked. We'd just made love.

"Clark wants to have at least three," Emma answered. "Every two years or so."

"So you and I will have to do something about that next summer?"

"If you don't find some young college girlfriend and forget me," she challenged.

I reassured her.

***

"So who is the father of your mom's child?" Emma asked another afternoon that last week of our summer stay on the island.

"Do you think she'd tell me?"

"I thought she told you everything." Emma had been subtly trying to get the info from mom for weeks.

"I think it might have been that weird guy, that ex-cop, the guy she was dating a year or so ago," I suggested.

"Trudi's aunt thinks it might have been the same man who fathered you. Did she ever tell you who your father was?" I shook my head no. Like Emma I too had heard the various rumors and gossip that had swirled around my parentage as I'd grown up.

"But I do know with one hundred percent certainty that Belle's father isn't my father."

"She told you that?" I nodded. "They're going to be best friends all their life aren't they?" I knew Emma was asking about Belle and Izzy. 

"They'll be sharing birthday parties for the next twenty years."

"Do you think you're mom will want to have another baby?"

"She told me last night she wants at least one more," I confided to my love.

"So we'll be at least seven, and eight if I have three."

I kissed her.

"Are we ever going to get married Matt?"

"Of course we are," I answered.

Emma took the ferry back to the city the next day. I think, somewhere deep inside her, that Emma already knows the truth. I think maybe she always has. 

I know we'll talk about it next year. If we're all eventually going to live together she'll have to know.

THE END

Thanks for reading my little tale. Please take the few extra seconds required and click one of the voting stars. Most of LITEROTICA'S authors are unpaid -- they're working for both their personal enjoyment and even more so for the entertainment of their readers. Sending us feedback, through either the voting stars or by also sending us a comment, is the main motivational force that keeps us writing.

I'd also love to hear back from readers as to whether they'd like to read the untold story that lurked within this one. It exists in my mind but as of yet is unwritten. It's the story of Matt's mother... and Belle's father.

Thank you, jim scouries