My Babysitter's Secret

Chapter 1 - The Secret

My parents took off for a weekend vacation, leaving me with our next-door neighbor, Mrs. Jones. She seemed pretty happy to get a break from her husband. I've heard they haven't been getting along well since their kids left for college.

I just turned eighteen and will be starting college in the fall, so a babysitter seems pretty unnecessary, but my folks were dead set on Mrs. Jones hanging out at our place, which completely blew up my plans for an awesome sleepover. Mrs. Jones is cool, but hanging out with someone in her fifties isn't exactly my idea of a good time. So, after dinner, I head up to my room, trying to make the best of the rest of my weekend. I decide to change into my nightdress, binge some TV shows and chat with my friends online.

As the night unfolds, I hear the front door opening—it's weird, so I quietly sneak out of my room and creep down the hall to the top of the stairs. I hide there in the shadows, peering into the living room. Mrs. Jones walks in, and to my surprise, she's with my volleyball coach. What is he doing here?

Mrs. Jones has changed her outfit, now wearing a flashy red dress and sleek black heels. And there is the coach, looking somewhat out of place in his jeans and basic black shirt.

"Are you sure she's asleep?" he whispers to Mrs. Jones.

My curiosity spikes instantly, and I lean in closer, straining to hear every word of their quiet conversation. Mrs. Jones responds with confidence, "Oh, she's definitely asleep. Went to bed over an hour ago."

I continue to observe them from my hiding spot, trying to make sense of the situation. Why is my volleyball coach meeting with Mrs. Jones in the middle of the night? And at our house?

The coach smiles, pulling Mrs. Jones into an embrace, and whispers, "It's incredible to finally have some alone time. I've really missed you."

"I've missed you too," she whispers back, her voice laden with emotion as she wraps her hands around his neck.

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks: my volleyball coach and Mrs. Jones are having an affair!

Coach leans in for a passionate kiss, their tongues intertwined. Oh, my gawd! I can't believe it! She's almost 20 years older than him! Mrs. Jones, despite her age, maintains an impressive figure, with her red hair always styled and her makeup flawless. Coach, who is in his early thirties, has rugged good looks and a muscular build that even make him a hot topic in the girls' locker room.

I must admit that I find the coach attractive as well, but knowing that he has a young wife and a baby on the way makes this even more confusing. It's difficult to understand why he would put everything on the line for an affair with Mrs. Jones.

"Let's go upstairs," she purrs, taking his hand.

I dash back into my room, afraid they will catch me spying. Leaving my door just a crack open, I listen to their footsteps ascending the stairs. They pause at the top, likely at the entrance to my parents' bedroom. Once I hear the door shut, I tiptoe out and cautiously peer through the keyhole. My view is limited—just a small glimpse of my parents' bed. The sounds of kissing and moaning are clear, but they're out of my line of sight.

My heart begins to race, and my pussy feels warm and tingly as I try to see what's going on. Why am I so turned on by this? My heart starts racing, and my pussy feels warm and tingly as I try to figure out what's going on. Why am I so turned on by this? I notice a naked silhouette moving across the room, and I catch a glimpse of a cock as they get up on the bed. Careful not to make a sound, I sneak my hand under my panties, my fingers sliding along my wet folds before dipping in and out of my slick depths.

As the coach thrusts his hips, she cries out in delight, her voice echoing throughout the house. I can't take my eyes off his toned buttocks and the way they flex with each powerful movement, imagining myself in Mrs. Jones's place.

"Oh, John! Fuck me!" she moans, and his movements become more intense. "Yes, just like that!"

He grunts, "Fuck, you feel so good!"

My fingers move faster to match his savage thrust; he's not gentle, and she enjoys the roughness.

"Cum inside of me, John," she begs, her voice filled with urgency and desire.

He responds with a deep growl, his pace quickening as he gives in to her plea. Even though I watch a lot of porn, I've never seen anything more erotic in my life. My pussy clamps around my fingers, and my cheeks heat up.

"I'm cumming!" Mrs. Jones screams, and I'm pushed over the edge, my vision blurring as my walls convulse in pleasure.

"Fuck!" the coach exclaims, his voice strained with release as his hips thrust forward one final time.

The sounds of heavy breathing and satisfied moans fill the room, as both Mrs. Jones and the coach collapse onto the bed. I pull my hand out of my panties, whipping my juices into my nightdress.

"I needed this so much," Mrs. Jones breathes.

"Same here," the coach replies. "Ever since Miranda got pregnant, our intimacy just stopped. It wasn't exactly fiery before that, either. Makes me wonder if all she really wanted from me was my sperm."

Mrs. Jones lets out a sigh. "My husband's only interested in his secretary these days."

"Me, too," he admits. "I wish I could stay longer, but I said to Miranda I'm only going to the store to get her the ice-cream she craves."

"I understand," Mrs. Jones says.

When I hear them getting out of bed, I rush back to my room, and in my haste, I knock over a vase on the hallway table. Damn it! Mrs. Jones asks, "What was that?" as the sound echoes throughout the house.

I don't want to make any more noise by closing the door behind me, so I leave it open and rush into my bed, pretending to sleep. Maybe they'll think our cat knocked over the vase. I hold my breath as I hear them walk out of the room and into the hallway. I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, hoping they won't suspect me.

"The kid," the coach says, his voice edged with annoyance. "She must have heard us."

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches my room.

"John, leave her alone." Mrs. Jones calls out, "She's just a kid."

"We need to know what she's heard and ensure she won't speak of it. I can't jeopardize my marriage," he whispers with urgency.

Oh, no! What have I gotten myself into? I stay as motionless and quiet as I can, praying they'll think I'm asleep.

"She won't say a word," Mrs. Jones assures him. "Trust me, I'll handle it."

"You'd better. If this gets out, it's over between us."

The footsteps recede from my door, and I let out a small sigh of relief. But the respite is short-lived. As soon as I hear the front door close, I brace myself for the inevitable confrontation with Mrs. Jones.