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From: "John Ashcroft" <johnashcroft22@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} The Baby-Sitter Escort Service {jashcroft}
Date: Thu, 17 Jan 2002 22:10:02 -0500
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This is mine. I wrote it; you can read it. (N.B.: "Read" is not synonymous 
with "steal," "repost," "archive," "rewrite," "redistribute," or "use on a 
pay site.")

---

The Baby-Sitter Escort Service

by John Ashcroft

Ch.1

A room, harsh fluorescent lights in the ceiling. A table, three people 
seated around it. One of them's a girl. She looks like Britney Spears' 
little sister: low-cut jeans, belly shirt, frosted blonde hair. Two of them 
are cops; bad suits, bad haircuts, bad attitudes. One's tall, fortyish; the 
other's on the far side of fifty, marking time until his pension kicks in. 
The girl is talking.

"It just sort of happened. We didn't plan any of it out, I swear."

"It just _happened_?" the pensioner asks.

"Yeah. We'd had our baby-sitter thing going for a while, you know--"

"A baby-sitters club?"

"Yeah. Like the books. We figured we could make more money that way, you 
know, switching off when we needed to and having a business people could 
refer around instead of just doing it on our own. And it worked, for a while 
a least. We just didn't figure on the dads."

She stops, fiddles with her hair a second. "Go on," the tall one says.

"I don't want to make it sound like they were all chasing after us or 
anything. Most of them were okay. But about a third of them, maybe, they 
couldn't take their eyes off us, or they got a little too touchy with us, or 
a lot, or practically came right out and asked us for sex."

"Who asked for it?"

"Well, nobody exactly, but there was this one time, this guy was driving me 
home, and he asks if I have a boyfriend and all, and then he starts talking 
about how he saw this thing on _Sixty Minutes_ about how girls are giving 
blow jobs in junior high now, you know, which they are, not that it's his 
business what I'm doing, and I could tell he was waiting for me to say 
something but I just sat there staring out the window. He didn't exactly ask 
for one, but I could tell he wanted to."

"Who was it?" pensioner asks.

"I don't remember. That was a while ago."

Pensioner shuffles his notes for a moment. "So you had this baby-sitter 
club, you and, um--"

"Lauren and Tricia."

"Lauren and Tricia, right. How did the hell did this turn into a call girl 
ring?"

The girl squirms again, twisting her hair around her finger. "Okay, see, 
like I said, we didn't just sit down one night and decide to start fucking 
all these guys. But we'd been talking about all these dads who were hitting 
on us or just being horndogs whenever we came over to watch their brats, and 
Lauren and I were complaining about it and talking about whether we ought to 
quit baby-sitting for them . . . when Tricia just up and says, 'You know, I 
bet some of them would pay to fuck us.'"

---

At first I couldn't believe what I had just heard. Lauren looked as shocked 
as I was, but Tricia just sat there without a trace of humor in her face.

"_What_?" I asked.

"Don't you think?" she said.

Lauren and I looked at each other. "Yeah, fucking probably," I said, "but so 
what?"

"Are there any of them you'd fuck?"

I'd had sex exactly twice at this point, so this wasn't a trivial question.

"Are you serious?"

"If they paid us, I don't know, a hundred bucks?" Tricia asked.

I laughed at her. "Not for a hundred bucks, that's for sure."

"I thought hookers got like three hundred bucks or something," Lauren said.

"But those are only like the real experienced ones," Tricia said, "you know, 
the ones who look like models and live in New York."

"There's no way I'd do it for a hundred bucks," I said again.

"Would you do it at all?" Tricia asked.

"Would _you_?" I shot back at her.

She shrugged. "I don't know. If he was cute, and nice enough. Maybe not for 
a hundred, but like maybe two hundred. Or two-fifty maybe."

"You'd really have sex with one of our clients . . . for _money_?" Lauren 
asked.

"Where else am I going to get two hundred bucks for just lying flat for ten 
minutes?"

"We're talking _sex_ here, right?" I asked. "Spread your legs and let him 
stick it in? Not just a bj or something?"

"Yeah."

"How could you do that for someone who just paid you for it?"

"Oh, and like you've really saved yourself for guys you loved."

Those two incidents of sex I mentioned? Both at the hands of this guy in 
ninth grade last summer, because he said his dad was N'Sync's tour promoter. 
Yes, I'm a stupid bitch. Don't tell me things I know already.

I had to flop on my back and stop looking at Tricia. "That's not the same as 
just fucking some guy for money."

"Yeah, you fucked him for a backstage pass you never got and he didn't even 
have."

None of us said anything for a few moments. Then Lauren said, "So what do 
you want to do? Just start sleeping with all these dads?"

Tricia shrugged again. "I'm not saying that. I'm just saying, you know, if 
it came up again, instead of just ignoring them or getting all pissed, you 
just say, 'I'll do it, but it will cost you.' See what they do."

"Call the police, is what they're going to do," I said.

I was still staring at the ceiling. Tricia snorted. "They're going tell the 
cops we propositioned them? Some fourteen-year-old girl? They'd get arrested 
so fast they wouldn't know what hit them. That's like, totally fucking 
illegal."

"So is having sex for money," I said.

"And yeah," Lauren said, "if they could get in so much trouble for doing 
anything with us, why would they?"

"_Because_ it's illegal, and they can't get it anywhere else."

"Then we should ask for a hell of a lot more than two hundred bucks," I 
said.

"How much, then?" Tricia asked.

"I don't know. Five hundred. A thousand, maybe."

I finally looked up after neither of them said anything. Tricia was spacing 
out completely, and Lauren wasn't too far behind her.

"A thousand bucks?" Tricia asked, wide-eyed.

"Well . . . maybe five hundred." We lived in Platinum Beach, which was a 
long way from Skid Row, but the fathers we baby-sat for weren't Bill Gates, 
either. A thousand was probably too rich. But five hundred . . . I knew 
right away there were three or four dads who might go for that.

"Would you do it for five hundred?" Lauren asked.

I gulped. With five hundred dollars, I could finally buy that leather jacket 
in BCBG I'd been drooling over for months. Every time I went to the mall, I 
went in there to try it on, so often that the salesgirls were starting to 
give me crap over it. But Mom just laughed when I suggested it might be a 
good Christmas present and that she wouldn't have to get me anything else at 
all.

"I think I could do it for five hundred," Tricia said.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I might think hard about that."

---

That was really about it for that night, and we didn't mention it again. I 
think we'd just freaked each other out talking so seriously about having sex 
for money. I went to bed that night thinking we'd just been goofing around. 
I wouldn't really do something like that, would I?

Except.

A few days later, I was at BCBG again, and the sales girl let me try on the 
jacket for about two seconds before giving me a dirty look, and I thought, I 
mean really seriously thought, _I could have this jacket. All I have to do 
is have sex. How bad could it be?_ Because that night, I was supposed to 
baby-sit for that family with the dad who'd tried to get me to talk about 
who gave blow jobs at school, which by the way was about everyone I knew, 
even Lauren, who was still a virgin and who got all stuck up about it, but 
who still gave up the head to at least three guys I knew of.

I really had fucked that guy last summer because I thought I could get a 
backstage pass to N'Sync out of it. So, in a way, the world kind of owed me, 
right?

I kept thinking about it all afternoon, right up until the point where I had 
to get ready to go baby-sit. I tried on about six different outfits wavering 
over just how hot I wanted to look before settling on a good pair of 
low-rise jeans and this black Lycra tee Mom didn't exactly know I had. The 
jeans were low enough to show off my thong, and after trying a couple of 
bras under the T-shirt and deciding that they both ruined the look, I just 
decided to go braless. I knew Mom wouldn't let me out of the house with my 
nipples sticking straight out, so I threw a sweatshirt on over it. For now, 
that was. It would probably be coming off before the night was over.

---

Mom drove me to the house and sat in the driveway until Mrs. Taylor let me 
in. The Taylors had a three-year-old girl who was actually pretty sweet and 
not a lot of work. Mr. Taylor appeared a minute after I came in and gave me 
a total up-and-down check-out. I shot him a flirty smile, though I made sure 
his wife wasn't watching first.

"How's school, Kaitlyn?"

I pretended to be casual. "It's okay." Then I pulled my sweatshirt off, and 
the T-shirt came halfway up my stomach before I got it over my head. I 
straightened myself out as if I didn't know he was watching every second of 
it, and when I looked back, his face was a little pale and his eyes were 
fixed about a foot below my chin. I pretended to ignore it and went looking 
for their daughter. They left with a wave and a "We'll be back by about 
eleven" a few minutes later.

I could see from the last look Mr. Taylor gave me that I'd hooked him. I 
just had to decide if I wanted to reel him in.

For three hours I played the baby-sitter, playing with their daughter, 
feeding her, then putting her to bed. The last hour or so, after she went to 
sleep, I had their house to myself. All the plotting that night had gotten 
me kind of horny, and I thought about looking to see if they had any porn 
videos hidden anywhere, but I couldn't work up the guts to search through 
their bedroom. So when they pulled back into the driveway, I was still 
sitting on their couch trying to decide what I was going to do.

Mrs. Taylor seemed a little drunk when she came in, and Mr. Taylor pulled 
out his wallet to pay me as she wobbled upstairs. Once again, his eyes were 
bouncing between my face and my tits, and once again, I pretended to ignore 
it.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

"Yeah." I grabbed my sweatshirt but didn't put it on. He gave me another 
look before calling upstairs, "I'm going to take Kaitlyn home now, honey." 
His wife called back, "Okay," and out we went.

The night was a little cold, and the trip from the house to their car was 
enough to get my nipples good and stiff. Mr. Taylor could hardly tear his 
eyes off of them, and I wondered how he possibly thought I didn't notice him 
looking. But he started the car and put it in gear. I sat there in the 
passenger seat wondering what to do. I had pretty much decided to just wait 
and see, but I still hadn't decided if I was really going to do it.

"So, you have a boyfriend yet?" he asked.

I fidgeted for a moment. This was exactly how the blow-job conversation 
started.

"There was a guy I hung with last summer. But he ditched me."

"That's too bad. But I bet a pretty girl like you doesn't have any problems 
getting boyfriends."

I wanted to gag, but I just made myself nod.

"It's not like it was when I was in junior high," he said. "The kids are so 
much more active now."

I knew what he meant, but I asked, "Active?"

He squirmed. "Um, sexually active, you know."

"Yeah."

He nodded to himself. "But I'm sure you're smart enough not to get in 
trouble."

Were it not for Tricia's stupid idea, I would have kept my mouth shut, but 
instead, I heard myself saying, "Yeah. I made my boyfriend wear a condom." 
Which I did, but. Not exactly the point here.

A little tremor shot through Mr. Taylor's body. "That's smart."

"Yeah. I know girls who don't. And some guys won't wear them."

He took an uneven breath. "I didn't realize you and your friends were so . . 
. busy."

I shrugged, waiting to see what he would do now. He didn't say anything for 
about a minute. Then:

"Do you, you know, just date guys in your grade? Or do you go out with older 
guys?"

Ninth grade was as far up as I'd gotten, but I could see where he was going. 
"I like older guys," I said. Which I did, but, again. You know.

"How old?" His voice was starting to sound a little strangled.

"I don't know. How old is old?"

"Thirty? Thirty-five?" Which was, I think, about how old he was. Before 
tonight, I would have barfed at the idea. I made myself think about the 
jacket for a few seconds and settled down.

"Sure," I said.

"Even if he was, you know, um . . ."

"Married?"

He didn't look at me. "Yeah."

"I figure that's between him and his wife."

We got to a red light, and he stopped the car. I thought about the jacket 
some more to gather my courage.

"Mr. Taylor, what are you really asking me?"

Now he finally looked over. "My wife and I, we don't exactly . . . . Look, 
Kaitlyn, you probably won't understand this until you get older but--"

This story was making me want to barf again, so I cut him off. "Mr. Taylor, 
are you asking me to have sex with you?"

The light turned green. He didn't seem to notice, and his eyes were bulging 
out so much he looked like a frog, almost.

"Would you?" he croaked.

I knew I was committed now, so I began the speech I'd prepared. "Well, this 
is the thing. There's this jacket I've really really really been wanting to 
get at the mall, but it's leather and it's really expensive and my folks 
totally won't get it for me and there's like no way in the world I could 
come up with that much money on my own."

Mr. Taylor was a horndog, but he wasn't stupid. He looked away from me and 
started driving again, pursing his lips and nodding a little. "How much is 
it?" he asked a few seconds later.

"Five hundred." It was four-twenty-five actually, but I figured I would 
stick with what we had talked about. He nodded to himself some more.

"Okay. Now isn't really a good time, I guess."

I'd thought this much out, at least. "You could come over to my house 
tomorrow after school. My folks both work, and they never get home before 
six."

More nodding. "What time?"

"Three-thirty?"

"Okay. Three-thirty. That's cool."

---

After he dropped me off, I went up to my room and called Tricia. After she 
got over her shock, we started talking about what to do. Neither of us had 
any ideas about how to handle it, and I realized I wasn't sure what he was 
really expecting out of me, but Tricia said, "For five hundred, he's 
probably expecting a lot."

"God. And it's not like I know anything. Should I dress up? Or just like 
wear a robe and nothing else?"

She thought for a moment. "I think you should just be yourself. Hot, but 
don't try to act like some old hooker. I mean, you know it's the age thing 
he's getting off on, right?"

"Yuck. Yes."

"So don't try to look like you're twenty or anything. I think you should 
just wear whatever you wear to school tomorrow."

"I guess that would work."

"But maybe, if he wants to do it again some time, just ask him what he wants 
you to do."

"Yeah. I should do that. And I know he's going to want to, unless it's like 
a total disaster or something."

"You have to call me the instant he leaves, okay?"

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

---

I pretty much spaced out all day at school wondering what was going to 
happen. Tricia wanted to talk about it some more, but I was afraid people 
would hear her, so I made her shut up about it. Eventually, my last period 
was over, and I rode the bus home. I got back about three-fifteen and after 
cleaning up my room a little, just sat down and waited.

I half-expected Mr. Taylor to flake, but he pulled up right on time. I 
closed my eyes and thought hard about my jacket until I calmed down. Then I 
went down and let him in.

"Hi, Mr. Taylor."

He looked even more nervous than I was, which actually helped me get into my 
act.

"Hi, Kaitlyn." He looked around our living room like he wasn't sure what to 
do, so I just motioned to the stairs.

"Come on." I went up, he followed me. When we got to my room, I shut the 
door. "So what do you want to do, Mr. Taylor?"

"Uh." He started squirming again and ran his hand through his hair. For a 
second I thought he was going to tell me to forget it, and the thought of 
how fucking embarrassing that scene would be was enough to get me moving. I 
pulled my top over my head, and as his eyes began to bug out, I unhooked my 
bra and let it fall off. I wriggled out of my jeans and panties and then 
just flopped back on my bed. He stood there in shock just staring at me, 
eyes darting back and forth over my bod. I was still pretty fucking nervous, 
but I figured all I had to do now was just lie there.

Finally he started undressing too. He wasn't bad-looking, not Justin or 
anything but he looked like he kept in shape. When he got his shorts off, he 
already had a hard-on, and I realized suddenly that I hadn't thought about 
how he'd probably be bigger than that guy last summer, since he's an adult 
and all. And he was, but it was too late now.

He climbed onto the bed with me and started kissing me and running his hand 
over my tits. I thought about the jacket and tried to kiss him back, but I 
wasn't really sure what else to do. In any case, it didn't seem to matter, 
because he just did what he wanted. He stopped kissing me after a minute or 
two and started sucking my tits. That felt good enough to let me calm down 
and just enjoy it. Then he went down even further and started eating me.

Now, I'd been eaten out a bunch of times before, all by guys I'd given bjs 
to, and a couple of times they'd even managed to get me off, but it was 
nothing like this. All of them had acted like they were just doing it 
because they thought they were supposed to, not because they enjoyed it or 
even cared if I did. Mr. Taylor went crazy on me, holding my butt and just 
licking and slurping at my puss like he wanted to suck it out of me. Pretty 
soon I'd forgotten all about the jacket and the five hundred bucks and even 
that he was like twenty years older than me because I was about to come like 
I hadn't ever before except when I got off with the water jets in Tricia's 
Jacuzzi. I just arched my back and ripped one, and as it peaked I realized I 
was slamming my puss up at Mr. Taylor's face, but he didn't seem to mind. He 
just held on and kept licking me.

He kept it up for about ten minutes, getting two more really good comes out 
of me, by which point I no longer cared what he did with me. I lay there 
catching my breath as he put on a condom and rolled on top of me. I felt him 
poking gently at my puss, and then he was pushing inside. It hurt a little 
at first, and I had to stop him.

And of course he said, "Too big?"

This might have been only the third time I'd had sex, but I knew how guys 
were about their dicks, and since it wasn't exactly a lie, I said, "Bigger 
than anything. That I've had before."

He got a big shit-eating grin on his face, but he kept moving into me. After 
a few seconds, I felt myself loosening up and relaxed.

He didn't seem to expect me to do anything, because he just starting fucking 
me slowly, in and out, in and out. I lay there just holding his arms at 
first, then figured I ought to at least act like it was getting me off. So I 
moaned and whimpered a little, which made him speed up.

"So good," he moaned. "God, you're so tight, Kaitlyn."

I moaned right back at him, and he moaned even louder and fucked me faster, 
and in about a minute he grunted, shoved himself all the way into me, and 
came. He rolled off and lay beside me catching his breath. I checked to make 
sure the rubber was okay, then just sat there waiting to see what he would 
do.

After a few minutes, he sat up and looked at his watch. "I need to get back 
to work."

"Okay."

He got up and started getting dressed, so I did too. When we were both 
decent, he dug out his wallet and handed me the money.

"Um, for the jacket."

I counted it. It was five hundred-dollar bills, the most cash I'd ever held 
in my hands. I could smell the leather of my jacket already. "Yeah. Thanks."

I followed him down to the door, and when we got there, he stopped and 
looked down at me awkwardly.

"Um, Kaitlyn, I don't know when I could see you again . . ."

"You can see me whenever you want, just . . ." I fingered the money again. 
He nodded. "Okay. Got it." And then, remembering what Tricia and I had 
talked about, I said, "Is there something you'd want me to do next time?"

"Uh . . ." I couldn't resist a grin when I saw the tortured look on his 
face. "Or do to me?"

He gulped and reached for the door. "Let me think about it."

"Okay. Bye."

---

I went straight to the mall and bought the jacket.

---

. . . chapter 2 as events and fan mail warrant . . .


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