Message-ID: <35011asstr$1012554607@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "John Ashcroft" <johnashcroft22@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
Subject: {ASSM} The Baby-Sitter Escort Service, ch.5 {jashcoft}
Date: Fri,  1 Feb 2002 04:10:07 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

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.")

Um, the mail has dropped off to next to nothing lately. Is anyone still 
reading this? Any point in continuing?

---

Missed a previous chapter? Click here:

http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34807
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34836
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34883
http://www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Collections/Alt.Sex.Stories.Moderated/Year2002/34931

---

The Baby-Sitter Escort Service

by John Ashcroft

Ch.5

A room, harsh fluorescent lights in the ceiling. A table, four people seated 
around it. The table's piled with an odd collection of bagged-up evidence: 
several vibrators, a black strap-on dildo, a studded leather dog collar, a 
black leather face mask. And cash. Lots of it. Bundles and bundles of 
twenty-dollar bills, what looks like several thousand dollars' worth.

Two of the people at the table 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. Of the other two, one's a man, late 
forties, Italian suit, graying brown hair, bewildered look on his face; the 
other's a woman, tall, thin, long brown hair. She's sobbing to herself as 
she looks at the stuff on the table in front of her. Pensioner is talking.

"Have you seen any of this before, Ma'am?"

"No," she gasps.

"These items were recovered from Lauren's room when we executed the search 
warrant this morning. We believe this money most likely represents the 
proceeds from the auction."

The woman shakes her head in anguished disbelief. "No. Not my Lauren. She 
wouldn't do these things."

"Ma'am," the tall one says, "we have taped confessions from all three girls, 
as well as confessions from several of the men. Lauren kept fairly 
meticulous records for this business of theirs. It's why we were able to 
arrest most of their clients so quickly."

"I realize this is difficult," Pensioner says, "but I'm afraid there's no 
real dispute about what your daughter was up to."

The woman keeps crying. The cops turn to her husband. "You didn't notice 
anything unusual going on, sir?" Pensioner asks. "It didn't seem unusual to 
you that Lauren was going out at night so often?"

"She was baby-sitting," he says numbly.

"Are you acquainted with Henry Conlon? Have you ever met him?"

"A few times," the husband says. "I know who he is. Lauren sat for them a 
lot." He's staring at the dildo now.  "I thought she was, I mean."

"Lauren told us that she had a sadomasochistic relationship with him for 
over a month. Do you know what that means?"

Husband and wife look up, husband's face filling with anger, wife looking 
horrified. "Was he hurting her?" she gasps.

The cops look at each other. "Not quite," Pensioner says, fingering the 
strap-on. "He apparently liked her to hurt _him_. She said he liked her to 
put this thing on and have--

---

--anal sex with him?" I gasped. "He wants us to have anal sex with him?"

"He just sort suggested it," Tricia said.

"What did you tell him?"

"Well, you know how Mr. Dillard is. He didn't exactly ask for it. He just 
said it would be hot if we wanted to. I didn't really say yes or no."

"Well, I'll say it. I don't want to have anal sex with him! At least not 
this time. Not on top of everything else."

"Have you ever done it?"

"No. You?"

"Um." Tricia went silent a moment. "Just once. I let Jason stick it in, but 
it hurt too much, so I made him stop."

"And I bet Jason isn't as big as Mr. Dillard is."

"He's not. Trust me on that one."

"So forget it. Fucking us both and doing the lesbo stuff is plenty. Fucking 
us in the ass ought to be extra. A lot extra."

"Okay. If he brings it up, that's what we'll tell him." She went quiet 
again. "Um, this was the other thing. He sort of wanted us to dress up."

"Dress up how?"

"He said, 'Catholic school uniforms.' I'm not sure what he meant."

"Eww. You mean like pleated skirts and knee socks?"

"I think so. I was too weirded out to ask."

"Ugh. That is beyond sick."

"You don't want to do it?"

"I didn't say that. For a thousand bucks, I'll wear whatever the fuck he 
wants. I just think it's fucking sick that he'd ask for something like 
that."

"Do you have a pleated skirt?"

"No. We can just pick some up at the mall after school. What time is he 
coming over?"

"Not 'til like four."

"Let's just ditch last period. I don't want to have to rush it. Meet me in 
the parking lot at two."

---

Tricia and I skipped our last class and took the bus to the mall. Finding 
pleated skirts wasn't tough, but settling on the ones we wanted took a while 
longer. We finally decided to get the shortest ones we could find, and ended 
up with some that only just barely covered our panties, and only if we like 
stood completely still. Tricia wanted to get some fancy underwear, but I'd 
been thinking about what Mr. Dillard probably wanted and I'd decided that he 
was trying to get us to look even younger than we were. So instead of 
raiding Victoria's Secret, we just went into the kid's department at Neiman 
Marcus and picked out the most basic white bras they had (32B for me, 34C 
for her) and the most boring pair of white cotton panties we could find. 
Knee socks were easy enough, and after that we were running out of time, so 
we had to settle on the first plain white blouses we found. Then we ran out 
to the bus stop and went back to Tricia's house to get ready.

We got dressed in our sex outfits and looked each other over.

"You look like Britney in '...Baby One More Time,'" Tricia said.

I tugged the knot in my blouse tighter and pulled it up so my navel was out. 
"I bet that's what he wants. Should I do my hair in pigtails?"

"Yeah. That would look hot."

I braided up my hair while Tricia studied the sex book again. "Did you know 
that some guys like the girl to stick her finger up his butt when she's 
giving him head?"

"_What?_"

"Seriously. Check this out."

"Eww. No. I don't want to look at something like that."

"Well, that's what it says."

"Why?"

"You're supposed to rub the prostate gland, whatever the fuck that is. It 
says guys like it."

"Forget that."

"I'm going to try it on Mr. Dillard. I want to see what it does."

"Gross!"

She slammed the book shut and shot a glare at me. "I'm just trying to do 
this right. You don't have to get all snotty about it."

"I'm not--" The doorbell rang, cutting off the retort I was about slap her 
with. She slid off her bed.

"Show time."

I followed her downstairs, trying to get into character, though I still 
hadn't decided exactly _what_ I was trying to be for this trick.

Mr. Dillard was at the door, and Tricia let him in. His eyes bugged out as 
he got a good look at what we were wearing.

"Hi, Mr. Dillard," Tricia said. I just gave him a flirty smile.

"Wow, um, you two look great."

"Thanks," I said. "Is this what you wanted?"

He nodded, already starting to drool almost. "Yeah. Yeah, it was." Mr. 
Dillard wasn't bad-looking, but he was too much of a horndog for my taste. I 
was willing to fuck him, but I'd never liked him very much.

"Let's go upstairs," Tricia said. We went back to her room, with Mr. Dillard 
following, and I made a point of swishing my skirt around so he could get a 
good look up it as came after us. When we got to the top of the stairs, his 
face was all red. Tricia led us to her room and shut the door.

"Um, okay," she said. "You remember what we agreed on?"

He nodded and dug two envelopes out of his pants. He handed me one. I opened 
it just to be sure. Inside were ten hundred-dollar bills. I stuck it in my 
purse while Tricia shoved hers into her desk.

"So what did you want to do?" I asked.

"I want you two to pretend I'm not here, at first. Just pretend you're here 
after school, getting it on together, like you do on your own time, you 
know?"

Tricia and I looked at each other. No point in telling him the truth, I 
figured. We sat on her bed and started making out. I let Tricia take the 
lead, which she was totally doing anyway. I lay back on her bed, and she 
started kissing my neck and feeling my tits over my blouse. Like I had the 
first time with her and with Lauren, I got over my nervousness after a few 
minutes and just let it happen. I'd decided that letting them molest me 
didn't make me a dyke. I was only a dyke if, like, I got off on going down 
on them, which I totally didn't. I'd _do_ it, yeah, but it didn't turn me 
on, you know? And getting off when they ate me out didn't mean anything.

Pretty soon Tricia had my blouse open and my bra undone. She pushed it up 
over my tits and started sucking my nipples. I checked out Mr. Dillard, 
seeing that he'd taken his dick out and started stroking it, but otherwise 
he was sitting still and watching.

Having Tricia suck on my nipples felt good, so I reached down and started to 
play with myself a little. I didn't do anything serious, I just fingered my 
puss over my panties. Tricia noticed it after a few seconds and took over, 
moving my hand out of the way and fingering me herself. She pushed my 
panties aside after a minute or so and started rubbing my clit. I could only 
take a little bit of this before I wanted more, and I pushed her head down 
between my legs.

She went. She slid to the end of the bed and peeled off my panties. I pulled 
my blouse open all the way and reached for my nips as she leaned in to lick 
me. I heard Mr. Dillard grunt as Tricia's tongue split my puss the first 
time, so I moaned and whimpered a little for his benefit. Maybe we could get 
him to jerk off all the way, and we wouldn't have to fuck him at all.

Once Tricia really started working on me, I couldn't think about much of 
anything else besides her tongue pumping against my clit, so I just forgot 
about Mr. Dillard and let her get me off. She pushed me into a pretty good 
come after about five minutes, and when I came to, Mr. Dillard looked like 
he was on the verge of getting off himself. But like Mr. Taylor had, he'd 
stopped stroking his dick before he came.

Tricia climbed up from the end of the bed, and I took over. I spent a few 
minutes kissing and sucking on her big tits before she pushed my hand 
between her legs. I fingered her like she'd done to me and kept sucking her 
nips. After about a minute of it, she suddenly let out this little squeak 
and pulled my head against her chest, and her hand went tight around my 
wrist. When she relaxed, I took my mouth off her tit.

"Did you just come?"

She nodded, breathing hard. Well, shit. Obviously she was as into this as 
Lauren was. I wasn't sure how I felt about that, but we had a job to do 
here, so I went back to work. Eventually I had to go down on her, but when I 
slid down and took her panties with me, Mr. Dillard suddenly spoke up.

"Wait. Let her sit on your face. Let her get on top."

It took me a second or two to understand what he meant. I'd never thought of 
doing it that way, but I guessed it would work. I climbed back on the bed 
and Tricia straddled my neck as Mr. Dillard crouched at the end of the bed 
to watch.

I started licking Tricia, and it wasn't long before she was moving her hips 
back and forth over my mouth. I lay as still as I could and just 
concentrated on my tongue. Her clit got all big and swollen, so I started 
sucking on it like I'd done with her nips. She seemed to like it, because 
pretty soon she was making all kinds of this-is-so-getting-me-off noises and 
thrashing around above me. When she came, she jerked herself back out of 
reach and crouched above me shivering and shaking. Then she rolled off and 
lay beside me.

Mr. Dillard was still there and still stroking his dick. He hadn't gotten 
himself off, as far as I could tell. I looked at him and grinned.

"Do you two do this a lot?" he gasped.

"Oh, yeah," I said. "Like every day. Some times we go into the restroom at 
school between classes." And Tricia said, "I just came so fucking hard."

Mr. Dillard grunted and squeezed his dick. "Oh, God. Yeah. You little sluts. 
Come here and suck me off."

Tricia sat up and slid to the end of the bed. I sat beside her as she 
swallowed up Mr. Dillard's dick. He moaned as she bobbed over him a few 
times, then passed it to me. I slurped on him for a few seconds, then passed 
it back. We went over him like that for about a minute. He reached down to 
grab Tricia tits and kept doing it even when I was sucking him. A couple of 
times we kissed his dick between us or tried to suck him both at the same 
time, which he seemed to like.

Then Tricia stuck her finger up his butt.

I really hadn't believed she was actually going to do it until she did. She 
took his dick when I passed it to him, then reached under his balls. I 
couldn't see much of anything, but it was pretty obvious that she'd done it 
because Mr. Dillard's legs started to shake and he let out this cry of 
surprise. Then he grabbed Tricia's head and started pumping at her face.

"Oh, fuck. I'm going to come in your mouth. I'm going to come in your 
mouth!"

I had my hand around his balls, and I was a little shocked to realize I 
could feel it happening. I could actually feel all his jizz going out of his 
dick and into Tricia's mouth. Her eyes swelled in surprise, but she held on. 
Mr. Dillard kept fucking her mouth for about ten seconds after he came 
before letting go of her. She sat back as Mr. Dillard caught his breath.

"Don't swallow it," he grunted. "Kiss her. Spit it into Kaitlyn's mouth."

Honest to God, I came _this_ close to telling him to fuck off, but watching 
him go crazy when Tricia fingered his butt had frightened me just enough 
that I didn't. Tricia hesitated for a second or two herself, but then she 
leaned toward me and pressed her lips against mine. I opened my mouth and 
felt Mr. Dillard's jizz flowing in. Tricia poked her tongue between my lips 
a few times to get it all. I sat there and tried not to barf.

"Show me," Mr. Dillard said. I opened my mouth. He nodded, still breathing 
hard. "Now kiss Tricia. French each other."

I don't know how I managed it, but Tricia and I tongue-wrestled until Mr. 
Dillard's come was pretty much evenly distributed between us. He wanted to 
see it again, so we showed him. Don't fucking ask me why, but he looked like 
he was going to come again just from the sight of it.

---

"I swear to fucking God," I said around Tricia's toothbrush, "that was the 
goddamned grossest fucking thing I've ever had to do in my entire fucking 
life."

Tricia looked up at me from the toilet.

"At least we didn't have to do it with him."

I kept brushing my tongue until I gagged, then I spat out the toothpaste. 
"I'd rather have let him fuck me in the ass. I can't believe I did that."

"He liked it. And he paid us a grand for it."

"Well, that was all he gets. I'm not fucking doing that again. I don't care 
how much he pays me."

"It wasn't _that_ bad."

"What _I_ don't understand," I said, "is what he got out of that. A blow 
job, coming in your mouth, yeah. But swapping his jizz back and forth? What 
the fuck was that?"

"I don't know."

"Don't tell Lauren about this, okay? She'll probably want to do it with Mr. 
Taylor."

She flushed the toilet and got up. Normally I might have felt a little weird 
about standing there naked with her in her bathroom, but I'd pretty much 
reached my weird-out threshold for the day already. "So are you guys doing 
that?" she asked. "For sure?"

I nodded. "Yeah. He called me last night. He wants it all, lesbo, a bj from 
Lauren, and a fuck with me. Eighteen hundred bucks."

She fidgeted with her hair for a second and then sighed. "Why did you tell 
Mr. Dillard we had sex all the time?"

"That's what he wanted to hear, don't you think? What does it matter? Who's 
he going to tell?"

She shrugged. "Just . . . to hear you say it, it felt . . . weird. Not bad. 
Just weird."

I stared at her. "It's a trick, okay? I say what the dads want us to say. 
Don't act like I'm trying to rape you or something."

A hurt look shot through her eyes. "I didn't mean it like that. I meant--" 
She reached for me like she was going to stroke my hair, but I jerked out of 
reach.

"Whoa. What are you doing?"

She recoiled in shock, eyes swelling. Jesus Christ, she looked like she was 
about to start crying. I felt bad, but at the same time I didn't want this 
to get any further.

"Look," I said. "You're my best friend, and I like you, but this isn't real, 
okay? I'll fuck you when we get paid for it, but don't make it more than it 
is."

She looked away, closing her eyes and nodding. "Okay. I'm sorry." Then, 
after a second or two: "You didn't like it?"

Now I felt like a complete piece of shit, but jeez--what did I have to do to 
get through to her that I wasn't a lesbo?

"Yeah, I liked it. You made me come really good. Is that what you want to 
hear?" She shrugged. I put my hand on her shoulder. "I don't mind doing 
this, during the tricks. We can do that whenever you want."

She shook her head and sighed. "Just forget it. It's not that big a deal."

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Just forget I said anything."

Ugh. At least I got another thousand bucks out of this. Having it happen for 
free would have been _too_ fucking much.

---

With everything else that had been going on, I had practically forgotten 
that we still had a legitimate baby-sitting business going and that there 
were still some people out there who only wanted us for our child-care 
skills. One of these jobs came up that night, and after calling Tricia and 
Lauren, I decided to take it. The client was a single mom who lived a few 
blocks from me, so I just walked over to her house after dinner. Mom and Dad 
let me sit on school nights since I usually took my homework with me and 
just did it after I'd put the kids to bed.

I'd sat for Ms. Rosenstock a few times before, and I knew she was divorced, 
but that was about it. She had custody of her son, who was a nice enough 
six-year-old. When I got to her house, she gave me the usual parent spiel 
before telling me she'd be home around ten.

"I'm just going to a movie with some friends. We shouldn't be late."

"Okay. I'm just going to do my homework, so you don't need to rush back." 
This was what I usually told them, since the longer the parents stayed out, 
the more I got paid. Except now, I realized it hardly mattered if I got paid 
an extra ten bucks for another hour of baby-sitting when I was making five 
hundred or a thousand an hour for fucking people. But old habits die hard, I 
guess.

I got her son to bed by nine, though he made me sit in the room with him 
reading while he fell asleep. I finished my homework by 9:45, after which I 
was left without anything to do. Normally I would have called Tricia or 
Lauren to shoot the shit about one thing or another, but I'd already called 
Lauren about the thing with Mr. Taylor that afternoon, and I was still too 
weirded out by Tricia's lesbo episode to want to talk to her. So I fell back 
on the traditional baby-sitter favorite, which was snooping through the 
client's personal crap.

Snooping properly is an art, because you never know how anal some people may 
be about how their private stuff is arranged. Just because things look 
mixed-up doesn't mean they don't know exactly where things are supposed to 
be. So paying attention to how stuff is arranged is vital. You never move 
more than one item at a time, and you never look at something until you've 
put the last thing back exactly how you found it. I knew more than one girl 
who'd gotten busted looking through a parent's porn collection, but I'd 
always gotten away with it.

Lingerie drawers are typically your best bet for interesting stuff, followed 
by nightstands. I've never really enjoyed picking through someone else's 
underwear, though, so I tended to stick to stuff they hid around their beds. 
Some people weren't even that careful about the stuff they left on or around 
their nightstands, and more than once I'd seen vibrators practically laying 
out where anyone could see them.

When I started poking through Ms. Rosenstock's nightstand, I didn't find 
anything interesting at first. She seemed to do a lot of work in bed, from 
what I could tell. But once I carefully moved the pile of work stuff out of 
the way, I hit paydirt. Right inside her nightstand drawer was a pink 
vibrator and a couple of bottles of massage oil. And both bottles were less 
than half full, so obviously she was using the stuff. Underneath the oil and 
vibrator were a bunch of sheets of printer paper with what looked like sex 
stories. I memorized the position of the bottles and the vibe before taking 
them out and reaching for the stack of paper.

Yep--sex stories, all right. Stuff she'd gotten off the internet from the 
looks of it. I flipped through them and started reading. It didn't take me 
too long to realize what Ms. Rosenstock's thing was.

More lesbo stuff! What was the _deal_ today? First Tricia and now this. 
Every single one of her stories was some kind of girl-girl thing. No wonder 
she'd had to get divorced. I wondered if her ex-husband knew or if she'd 
hidden it from him and just split. I bet that she hadn't told him anything, 
because she sure didn't look like a lesbian, or at least what I'd always 
though lesbos looked like. She dressed pretty hot and she was pretty good 
with her makeup. If I were a guy, I'd want to fuck her.

When I got to the end of her little collection, something hit me. It wasn't 
just lesbo stories. Yeah, they were all about lesbians getting it on with 
each other, but about half of them were about older women and teenage girls, 
usually with the older woman teaching the girl how to be a dyke.

Two thoughts came to me at that instant: Did Ms. Rosenstock want to get into 
my pants, and if she did, could I recruit her as one of our clients? I 
didn't exactly know a hell of a lot of about lesbian sex, but I figured Ms. 
Rosenstock wouldn't want me to anyway.

_If_, that was, I really wanted to do it with her. Maybe I ought to just 
refer her to Tricia, I thought. Tricia would be more into this than I was, 
except Tricia might not be the kind of girl Ms. Rosenstock wanted. Her 
stories were all about these naive but curious teenage girls being seduced 
by older women. Tricia wasn't too good at naive. Between her boobs and the 
way she dressed, she just didn't look the part.

Lauren could definitely do naive, though. This might be a trick for her. The 
question was whether wanted to give it to her.

Then I heard a voice behind me.

"Kaitlyn?"

I swear to God, I almost jumped out of my skin. I'd completely lost track of 
time, and sure as shit, there was Ms. Rosenstock standing in the doorway. 
I'd been caught red-handed. I tried to bleat out some kind of explanation 
even though I knew it was pointless.

"I--I--I--"

But Ms. Rosenstock looked almost as embarrassed as I was. I tried to shove 
her stories back into the drawer, but it was obvious she knew what I'd been 
reading.

"Uh--I'm sorry," I gasped. "I'm sorry."

She took a step into the bedroom and put her hand on her forehead. Both of 
us stood there unable to say anything. Somehow I got my composure back 
before she did.

"Did you write those?"

"No--I, uh, I found them. Kaitlyn, you realize--"

"It's okay. I won't tell anyone."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry," I said again. "I shouldn't have been snooping."

"It's all right."

"I didn't know that you . . . liked that stuff."

"Kaitlyn, I . . . you'll understand this better when you're older, but 
people sometimes have fantasies about things they would never do in real 
life. Please understand that."

I tried to act disappointed. "Oh. You mean you don't really like that 
stuff?"

She looked at me for the first time since I saw her in the doorway. 
Something changed in her face. She struggled with trying to say something 
for about five seconds.

"You liked it?"

I nodded, trying to keep up the shy-and-innocent act. "I've thought about 
stuff like that. But I've never really done anything. I don't know what to 
do." She stood there with her jaw down, staring at me. I took a step toward 
her. "Could you show me?"

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists. Part of me felt bad about doing 
this, but I figured that if it was her fantasy, what was wrong with giving 
it to her? Especially if it got her onto our client list.

I took another step or two toward her until I was about three feet away. She 
was still standing there, head down, breathing hard. Finally she looked up.

"Kaitlyn . . ."

"Please?"

She reached out and pushed her fingers into my hair and caressed my neck. 
For some reason, this didn't weird me out at all the way things with Tricia 
had that afternoon. If anything, it was turning me on to see the effect I 
was having on her. I closed my eyes and laid my cheek on her arm.

But just when I thought I had her, she said:

"I need to think about this. I'm sorry."

I looked up at her. "Why?"

"Because you're fourteen, Kaitlyn."

"So?"

"I'm not saying no. I'm asking you to give me time to think about this."

I looked down and nodded, trying to make myself cry. It didn't work. So 
instead I just leaned against her. She put her arms around me and hugged me. 
It actually felt kind of nice.

"Okay," I said. "I'm sorry."

She kissed me on the cheek. "Don't be sorry. I know exactly what you're 
going through. I struggled with these same feelings when I was your age. 
Only things were different then."

"Did you do it with someone older, like this?"

She shivered against me, and when she spoke, her voice was tight. "Yes."

"So?"

"Please, Kaitlyn. Just give me a little time to think."

Oh, well. Patience was supposed to be a virtue. I figured it didn't matter 
if I got her next week instead of tonight.

She followed me to the front door. Just before I left, I jumped against her 
and gave her another hug. "I'll be thinking about you," I whispered.

She stood there watching me walk away for a _long_ damn time.

---

[Ch.6 as events and fan mail warrant]


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