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Authors: Ana Meadows
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The Babysitter And The Beast
Ana Meadows
Copyright 2013 by Ana Meadows
Forbidden Fruit Press
(All characters depicted in this story are consenting adults)
***
A taste of things to come:
“Yes,” was all she could breath to him. Now he was gripping her breasts by the sides with his claws, clasping them and digging just enough to arouse a bit of stinging, but nothing unpleasant. He flicked his tongue on her nipples and between her breasts, all the while his cock lay on her clit and rubbed it in little circles in time with his gyrations. “Yes!” she cried. Monica was ready.
Gaelin moved away from her just for a second. Her pussy was starting to throb and she needed him soon or she might explode. He hooked an arm around her knees and lifted them, folding them so that her knees would touch her chest if he pushed any farther. Lifting her ankles to his shoulders, he exposed her drenched hole and rubbed the outside of it so that it dripped. Pushing her legs towards her body, he pushed only the end of his pulsing cock into her and waited for her.
***
Monica dumped the five gallon jug full of change onto the rug in front of her couch and grabbed her last few coin rollers. Sitting cross legged next to the pile she began to sort coins into piles, thinking about where she had gone wrong. At 23, she should have been graduating with her accounting degree at the top of her class, but instead she had dropped out in favor of a career in art and literature. Math was great and Monica was good at it, but she wanted to paint for the rest of her lif e, not spend it 'getting ahead.' It wasn’t working, because Monica was sitting on her floor counting change when she could easily be crunching numbers or working the mail room as an intern at some accounting firm.
Sighing, she pushed the sorted piles of coins away from her and stood up, pacing the room. She knew there was a better way to make money than to count it out of her art supply fund. Not that it was lasting; this wasn’t the first time she had dipped into the jug, and that money was dwindling as well. Monica knew she needed a second job.
She padded over the coffee table where she had dropped her gym bag when she came home. Monica took pride in the way she looked and worked out twice a week, if she had time between hours at the bookstore she labored and trying to hock her paintings at local galleries. She was diminutive but curvy; her legs were short and her torso was a bit long, with high, firm breasts. Creamy white skin that burned easily matched nicely with her dark hair, and the picture was completed with clear blue eyes framed by long incredible lashes. Digging around her sweaty clothes and running shoes, she reached in her bag and gripped the newspaper that she had brought home earlier that afternoon.
Monica shook the paper out, abandoning the front page scandals for the classifieds. She sighed, scanning the ads. Here was one for dog walking; no, that wouldn’t do, Monica hated dogs. There was another for a live in maid, but she had a sweet lease on her apartment. Female escort wanted? Oh, no. Monica was far too slutty for that, she’d end up a prostitute instead. Then it caught her eye, the ad that would let her buy some meat this week instead of just Ramen noodles. It said:
Sitter wanted: Two nights a week, with potential for continuous work. Visit 252 West Bainbridge Lane for formal interview.
“Perfect!” Monica said aloud in the apartment, clutching the paper in one hand. In high school, she had had several babysitting jobs, and was used to kids. She liked children, so it wasn’t a problem for her to pick up that one last job. It was either this or go back and finish the most boring degree on the planet only to get the most boring job ever. Gathering the change up and pouring it back into the jug, she tidied up her apartment and made a quick change of clothes into
Ana Meadows
Copyright 2013 by Ana Meadows
Forbidden Fruit Press
(All characters depicted in this story are consenting adults)
***
A taste of things to come:
“Yes,” was all she could breath to him. Now he was gripping her breasts by the sides with his claws, clasping them and digging just enough to arouse a bit of stinging, but nothing unpleasant. He flicked his tongue on her nipples and between her breasts, all the while his cock lay on her clit and rubbed it in little circles in time with his gyrations. “Yes!” she cried. Monica was ready.
Gaelin moved away from her just for a second. Her pussy was starting to throb and she needed him soon or she might explode. He hooked an arm around her knees and lifted them, folding them so that her knees would touch her chest if he pushed any farther. Lifting her ankles to his shoulders, he exposed her drenched hole and rubbed the outside of it so that it dripped. Pushing her legs towards her body, he pushed only the end of his pulsing cock into her and waited for her.
***
Monica dumped the five gallon jug full of change onto the rug in front of her couch and grabbed her last few coin rollers. Sitting cross legged next to the pile she began to sort coins into piles, thinking about where she had gone wrong. At 23, she should have been graduating with her accounting degree at the top of her class, but instead she had dropped out in favor of a career in art and literature. Math was great and Monica was good at it, but she wanted to paint for the rest of her lif e, not spend it 'getting ahead.' It wasn’t working, because Monica was sitting on her floor counting change when she could easily be crunching numbers or working the mail room as an intern at some accounting firm.
Sighing, she pushed the sorted piles of coins away from her and stood up, pacing the room. She knew there was a better way to make money than to count it out of her art supply fund. Not that it was lasting; this wasn’t the first time she had dipped into the jug, and that money was dwindling as well. Monica knew she needed a second job.
She padded over the coffee table where she had dropped her gym bag when she came home. Monica took pride in the way she looked and worked out twice a week, if she had time between hours at the bookstore she labored and trying to hock her paintings at local galleries. She was diminutive but curvy; her legs were short and her torso was a bit long, with high, firm breasts. Creamy white skin that burned easily matched nicely with her dark hair, and the picture was completed with clear blue eyes framed by long incredible lashes. Digging around her sweaty clothes and running shoes, she reached in her bag and gripped the newspaper that she had brought home earlier that afternoon.
Monica shook the paper out, abandoning the front page scandals for the classifieds. She sighed, scanning the ads. Here was one for dog walking; no, that wouldn’t do, Monica hated dogs. There was another for a live in maid, but she had a sweet lease on her apartment. Female escort wanted? Oh, no. Monica was far too slutty for that, she’d end up a prostitute instead. Then it caught her eye, the ad that would let her buy some meat this week instead of just Ramen noodles. It said:
Sitter wanted: Two nights a week, with potential for continuous work. Visit 252 West Bainbridge Lane for formal interview.
“Perfect!” Monica said aloud in the apartment, clutching the paper in one hand. In high school, she had had several babysitting jobs, and was used to kids. She liked children, so it wasn’t a problem for her to pick up that one last job. It was either this or go back and finish the most boring degree on the planet only to get the most boring job ever. Gathering the change up and pouring it back into the jug, she tidied up her apartment and made a quick change of clothes into
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