The Sitter Needs a Ride

Joe saw Donnell's car hidden in the alley. Turning into the driveway, Joe didn't mention the car to Molly. In the house, they found the pets alone in the living room playing with a bone. Gloria wasn't around.

Joe furrowed up his chin.

Molly sat on the couch. She petted the youngest dog's head and yanked off one of her heels. The dogs were eleven and twelve, old enough that they didn't need a sitter, but Joe had wanted Gloria to prove herself.

He went looking for her.

He went into the kitchen. Through the dining room and down the hall. Into the master bedroom. He had an idea of how he might find her, and it sent a dirty thrill straight through him. Her parents hadn't put her out because she was an innocent. An attractive girl, she was eighteen or nineteen. Mediterranean skin, slim hips. He'd met her at the after-Mass social in Saint Barnaby's basement. Something about her shy accommodating manner appealed to him. Slipping into the garage, he heard a soft grunt from behind a stack of boxes.

He'd found her.

He crept closer, his cock making a lazy roll in his pants. Gloria was kneeling at Donnell's feet, her hand pumping his shaft, her head enthusiastically following. Her blouse was open to her waist, exposing the thin straps of her bra and the soft white of her tummy. Her hair shone in the dim light. Wet sucking noises came from her mouth.

Her eyes fluttered open. Shock and fear registered on her face.

Joe kept his face neutral. He didn't want to appear angry. To appear angry would be to get more involved than he already was, and he didn't need that. He needed to get Donnell out of his garage. Get Gloria back home to her aunt.

Get his evening back.

Her eyes were wide open now, staring right at Joe.

She moved her hands to Donnell's thighs and tried to rise, to separate herself from the act she was performing on him. But Donnell had other plans. He held her head, grunted, and thrust his hips forward. What could she do? She closed her eyes, drawing her brows together. She made soft cooing noises.

Joe's cock swelled up.

Her eyes fluttered open, hands resting on Donnell's thighs. Her face was flush. His cock was still in her mouth and she looked up at him.

"What the fuck," Joe said. He kept his voice low, just a touch of menace.

Donnell jerked back, spinning his head and shoulders.

"Get the fuck outta here," Joe said.

Donnell grinned. He fumbled with his wet dick. He was older than Gloria, twenty or twenty-two. He laughed, but his eyes remained flat. "Fuck, man," Donnell snorted. "Fuck." He pulled at his cock, milking it.

"Molly," Joe hissed, impatience in his voice.

Donnell showed the white of his teeth.

Gloria rose from her knees and stood close to Donnell. Searching his face, she looked as if she were trying to determine what her own response should be. She pressed herself against him, craning her lips to his mouth.

Donnell straightened his back, a sour look on his face. He made a small sound of disbelief and looked at her with disapproval. Gloria abruptly pulled back, as if she'd been slapped. She cut her eyes to Joe and then quickly looked away, cheeks rosy with shame.

Donnell murmured something.

She hurriedly wiped her mouth with the back of her hand then started buttoning her shirt. Donnell sauntered toward the door, making a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Fuck it," he said. He grabbed between his legs. "I'm out. I'm out. I'm all the way out." He slipped through the door and then disappeared around the side of the house.

Joe went to the door and peered outside. An engine started and tires chirped.

Donnell was gone.

Gloria was looking at her feet, smoothing the fabric of her shirt. Joe didn't know what to say to her. He tipped her chin up with his fingertips, but she twisted her head away from his touch. She refused to look in his eyes. "Do you want Molly to know?" he asked. He kept his tone even. Gentle. She might burst into tears and he didn't want that.

"She'll tell Louise," he warned.

"I don't care," she said. Her voice was sullen, but she'd spoken.

"You're wet," he told her.

He offered her a bandanna from his back pocket. There was something wet just above her sternum, something else in her hair. He used the bandanna to dab at a damp spot on her cheek, averting his eyes from the shallow valley between her breasts. He knew her Aunt Louise but not very well. She'd volunteered Gloria for the pet sitting job. He hadn't needed a sitter, but he'd gotten the sense that Gloria needed to prove something to her, or vice versa, so he went along with the plan. In a small town like Carnal, you learned early on to always accommodate your neighbor's needs.

"Wipe yourself," he said.

She took the kerchief from Joe. Her hand trembled.

"You've got some in your hair, too," he said, trying to sound kind. Helpful.

The pets yapped from somewhere inside the house.

Molly called out. She was coming.

Joe moved fast, crossing the room and punching the button for the garage door. It kicked to life with a great mechanical yawn. Halfway up, he punched the button again. It stopped. Cool night air swirled into the garage.

"What are you two doing in here?" Molly asked.

"The door opened on its own again," Joe said. It was a lie. He didn't know why he was lying, but it was too late now. He punched the button. The door shuddered and made its way back along its tracks.

Molly narrowed her eyes.

Joe watched the door. "Gloria heard it go up," he said. He nodded to Gloria. She was cleaning her face in the workbench mirror. Their eyes met and hers remained flat.

Wary.

Molly put her fists on her hips.

Watching the door shudder into the full open position, she tilted her head and sighed. "Jesus," Molly said, looking at Gloria. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this bullshit."

Gloria smiled at Molly, then gazed back into the mirror.

"Get someone to look at it this time Joe," Molly said. "It's no t safe."

Joe punched the button again.

The door came churning back down. He made a joke about the boogeyman slipping into the garage. Turning to Molly, he found Gloria looking at him through the glass. Their eyes met. She smirked, crinkling her nose. Had she ever smiled at him before? Joe couldn't be sure. It was certainly a first for tonight.

He kept his face even. Molly was watching.

Gloria bit her lip. Holding his eye, she dabbed the bandana into her cleavage.

His cock swelled.

***

Gloria hadn't said two words since they'd begun the drive to her aunt's house. With her tight jeans and slim hips, she looked even more attractive, all pouty and grim. Pulling the car into the darkest part of the parking lot, Joe shut it down.

The engine ticked as it cooled.

He grinned at her.

He got out and walked to the ATM. Crickets chirped. The cool June air felt good on his arms. He was a real estate agent, a good one. Used to getting his way. He felt that same slight fluttering in his belly as when he'd first found Gloria in the garage. The image of her on her knees at Donnell's feet popped into his mind. He'd seen fear, panic in her eyes. But then he'd noticed something else, something not so much in the frightened look that she gave him, or the way she surrendered to her circumstance, but in the way she then threw herself into satisfying her man, working his cock with her hands and mouth. The way she ignored everything else.

He punched in his numbers, listened to the ATM hum.

She'd liked it. She liked being watched. She liked performing for a man.

She probably didn't even realize it herself. Suddenly he decided to make another, much larger withdrawal—three hundred dollars. He worked the machine and grinned. She needed another audition, another chance to perform.

Joe got back into the car and found her smoking.

"You got another one of those?" he asked.

Gloria tapped a cigarette out of her pack and silently handed it to him. Lighting up, he exhaled smoke. He put the cigarette in his mouth. Fanned the cash in his hand.

"How much do I owe you?" he asked. He counted through the bills, passing them from one hand to the other.

"You don't have to pay me anything," she said.

"No, no—I want to," he said. He peeled off five twenties and handed them to her. She looked at the money, but didn't move.

"Take it," he said, waving the cash toward her. "You earned it."

She looked at him, looked at the money in his hand.

"You don't have to do anything," he said. "It's yours."

She reached out, took the money.

Joe folded the rest of the bills in half and stuffed them into his shirt pocket. He chuckled and said, "That was some show back there—you and Donnell."

She blew cigarette smoke through her nose and laughed. Looked out the window.

"Funny?" he said.

She put the cigarette in her mouth. Folding the money in half, she lifted her bottom off the seat, and then slipped the folded bills into her front jean pocket.

"I watched you swallow it," Joe said. He watched her to see how she'd react to this kind of language. "You let him finish in your mouth."

She turned her head from him, looking out the window.

Joe flicked his cigarette out the window, then put his hand on her knee. "Nothing to be ashamed of, honey. You're a good-looking girl." Her knee felt bony and delicate under the tight denim. "Slim hips," he said, his voice low. "Dark skin."

He leaned toward her, moving his hand across the back of her seat. He put his upper body in her personal space, his other hand on her knee.

"Tight body," he whispered. "Like an athlete. A model, a movie star."

She turned her head and Joe could see a hesitant little half-smile. She enjoyed this praise for her body, but she kept her head mostly averted, her body very still. She wanted to play it coy.

"Nothing wrong with a little sex." Joe moved his hand to her thigh. "A girl your age."

Joe glanced out the windows and into the mirrors to make sure they were still alone. A light rain started to fall. Raindrops tapped on the roof of the car. He put his hand on her crotch, and she squirmed in her seat. His fingers played across the intersection of thick seams and she drew in her breath. She was warm down there, maybe even a little damp.

Joe drew his hand back, then stroked his knuckles across her hip, the bare part of her waist where her blouse had drawn up.

"How'd it taste?" he whispered.

She looked at him sharply, her lips parted. Her eyes were hooded with lust and maybe even a little fear. Brushing his hand across her chest, he could just make out her nipples with his thumb. She burrowed further down into the seat, opening her legs. Joe put his hand on her pussy and stroked her. It was moist. She moved her hips forward to meet his hand and then he drew it away again. From somewhere down in her throat, she made a soft needy sound, a half-whimper.

Joe checked all the windows and the mirrors again. They were fogging up.

She remained splayed out on the seat. Didn't move. Joe put his hand back on her thigh, and she looked up at him hungrily.

"How'd it taste?" he asked again, keeping his voice even.

She bit her lip, that needy look in her eye. Her cigarette had burned untouched in her hand and she flicked the long ash out the window, then changed her mind and tossed it all away. She gave him that same look of resignation she'd given him in the garage. His fingers traced lazy circles on the inside of her thigh.

"Bitter," she said. "Hot." Taking his hand, she guided it between her legs. "I liked it." Her voice was a throaty whisper.

He smiled. "She liked it," he repeated, delighted.

He cupped her whole crotch with his hand, slipping all four fingers between her legs. She raised her bottom to meet his palm, falling into a gentle rocking motion. He squeezed her cunt.

"Is that why your parents sent you to live with your aunt?" She placed her palms flat on the seat, grinding her hips.

"Because you like filling your belly with cum?"

Her shoulders were back, her nipples hard little nubs in her blouse. Her mouth hung open, noisily taking in and expelling breath.

"Or because he's trouble?"

Joe stopped squeezing her pussy. He held her crotch, looking her square in the eyes.

She closed her mouth, licked her lips.

He waited for an answer.

"Trouble," she hissed, pressing her thighs together, trapping his fingers.

Joe snorted, pulling his hand from her cunt.

"Come on," she pleaded. She reached for his hand, a pained expression on her face. "Both," she said, urgency in her voice.

"Both. I can't help it."

He unbuttoned her pants, lowered her fly, and then slid his fingers under the elastic waist of her panties. Her skin was warm, her hips rising and falling. He could just feel the edge of her pubic patch. She bit her lip.

She was willing, obedient.

Malleable.

He wedged his hand into her panties, fingering her wet slit. She began working her hips to get off on his hand.

"Has he fucked you? Put that big fat cock in you?"

She immediately shook her head, her lower lip white where her teeth clamped down. Her blind obedience made his cock throb.

"Such a pretty girl," he whispered. "So easy, so eager."

The cab of the car went eerily quiet, except for an occasional grunt from her exertion. She screwed her eyes shut, intent on moving her hips to maximize her pleasure against his hand. Joe didn't try to penetrate her or do much of anything. He just kept his hand in her pants, his fingers pressed against the hot pit of her clitoris.

He let her do the work.

Moving his lips near her ear, he watched her face. He waited. When she was very close, he whispered to her. "Slutty. Girl."

Her eyes shot open.

"Cock lover," he whispered.

Gloria clamped her thighs on his hand, a disgusted, frightened expression on her face. Her bottom came off the seat. She held herself stiff and moaned, a low guttural sound that filled the car. Joe laughed, a series of soft, breathy exhales. Watching her writhe, he whispered that she was a pretty little whore, a cocksucker. She accepted it from him. She had to. He was only echoing the messages her parents and loved ones were sending her. She crashed back into the car seat, breathing heavily.

He gave her wet pussy one last lusty squeeze, then pulled his hand from her crotch.

He opened his pants. Reaching into his boxers, he hauled out his cock. It felt good to free it from his pants. It was pink, sculpted and long. It swayed in his lap, pointing at the roof.

Gloria sat wide-eyed, hands pressed to her face.

"Mr. Murphy," she whispered. She spoke through her hands, her voice cracking. "Mr. Murphy." She cleared her throat and made a sad laugh.

"I have a boyfriend."

Joe smiled. "You do." He laughed.

He thought she was telling him the obvious, but then suddenly he realized she was trying to express something different. She felt conflicted. She didn't want to cheat on Donnell. It was sweet. He reached for her hair with the tips of his fingers and she turned her head away. He withdrew his hand and grinned.

"It won't take you long." His cock swayed lewdly in his lap.

Gloria looked out the front window. She looked out the back. Her mouth hung open. She didn't bother to button her pants.

He sat silently waiting for her, his naked cock an indictment and an invitation.

When she got up on her knees, he knew she was going to do it. He wasn't sure if it was the money, the orgasm, or the language. Maybe it was the whole lusty bundle. It didn't matter. She knelt on the seat, gazing into his lap.

He sat in the driver's seat like some Arab pasha, arms spread across the upholstery, his hard cock waiting for her attention. She tucked her hair behind her ear and inched her head toward his lap.

She stopped. "This is so fucked up," she said, twisting her head around.

He grinned. He tried to think of something clever to say but nothing came to mind. It was fucked up. He was hard. He wanted her mouth on his cock. She pointed her chin toward his lap and then her hands were on his shaft and her moist mouth followed.

He groaned.

She was good. A good little cocksucker.

Her hand pumped his shaft. She took hold of his sack and compressed his balls. He wasn't going to last long. He didn't care. He didn't bother with a warning. He knew she swallowed. He'd watched her. Her head went down, and he took her silky hair in both his hands, holding her fast.

"That's a girl." Her hands went to his thighs and she whimpered. He held her head and groaned as the cum flew from his cock.

"That's for you," he whispered, teeth clenched.

He held her head as if it were some sort of cheap sex toy he'd picked up at a truck stop. As if her delicate mouth were nothing more than a round O-shape, fabricated to be about the size of a man's prick, with drawn-on lips at the opening. He grunted as he came, thrusting his hips forward. No sounds came from her, his cheap toy. Soon his prick stopped spitting its sour juice and he relaxed his grip on her head.

As soon as he finished, he wanted her off his cock. It was spent and sensitive, and he wanted it to rest in his lap, untouched. He didn't tell her this, though. Instead, he petted her head, letting his hand wander down her neck, her spine. He didn't want to manhandle her. He gave her time. He could afford to be magnanimous, he'd just come in her mouth.

Soon she moved her head, her torso.

Her hands went to his prick.

She raised her head, bringing her lips to a close at the tip. With a wet sucking noise, she separated her mouth from his cockhead. You couldn't get that from a toy. She held her head above his lap for a moment. He craned his head to see what she was doing and realized she was only now swallowing his spunk. She raised her head without meeting his eyes.

"Hey," he whispered, taking her by the chin.

She cut her eyes from his.

He kissed her hard on the lips. She didn't expect it and jerked her head back at the last second, but it was too late. His mouth was already on hers. He wasn't sure why he kissed her, but somehow kissing her seemed more of a violation than sticking his cock in her mouth. She squealed and pulled away, but his hand was on the back of her head. He held onto her, and soon she stopped pulling, quieting her mouth, and then her body.

Her tongue met his. Tentative at first, then more resolute. Her teeth clattered against his.

The breath from her nostrils warmed his cheek. He pulled his head back and her eyes fluttered open. She wore a cautious, searching expression on her face. He saw a depth in her eyes that frightened him, and he snorted to mask his feelings. Whatever she was feeling, she blinked it back.

An awkward moment followed. "Thanks," he said.

She looked at him.

He meant thanks for sucking my cock. Thanks for letting me come in your mouth. Thanks for swallowing everything that came out of my dick. Thanks for being a great babysitter. Thanks for cheating on your boyfriend with me. Thanks for not telling anybody about what we've done here tonight. Thanks, I know you'll be discreet, especially with Louise. Thanks for being such a good sport. Thanks for letting me call you a whore and a slut and all the other dirty names. Thanks for letting me touch your pussy, your perfect teenage tits and ass. Thanks, and let's do this again sometime real soon.

He assembled his pants and started the car. He adjusted the car's heating system to clear the windows. She strapped herself into the seat. No one spoke. They pulled up to her aunt's house and she got out. The overhead blazed. He felt pinned to his seat by the bright light. Fighting back the feeling, he gave her the rest of the money in his shirt pocket.

She wouldn't accept it.

He leaned over and tucked it into the waistband of her pants. He was used to getting his way. She stood and took the money from her pants. He eyed her thighs, her hips. The place where her legs met in the middle. Donnell hadn't fucked her.

Joe's limp cock pulsed.

Donnell could never find out about this. Molly could never know.

Joe looked past Gloria's hips to the house.

Louise couldn't know either.

Gloria tucked the money into her pocket then ducked her head back into the cabin of the car. Her eyes glittered. He'd given her too much. He'd overpaid.

"Thank you, Mr. Murphy," she said solemnly.

He smiled.

"Joe," she said hesitantly. His first name made her grin and contort her face. "Mr. Murphy," she corrected herself with a wan smile. She'd had his tongue, his cock, and his semen in her mouth, but his first name felt wrong there.

She slammed the door and raced across the lawn.

He sat in the dark and watched, his hands on the wheel. She waved from the front porch and then fished a key from her pants. She opened the front door, waved to him again, and then she was gone. He put the vehicle into gear.

The scent of her pussy filled the car.



***

COPYRIGHT © 2020 Huck Pilgrim. All right reserved.

Huck Pilgrim has lived on the streets of New York City, in a communal home for Christians, and on an American submarine out of San Diego. He has washed dishes, made costumed helium balloon deliveries, and robbed designer jeans from department stores.

Huck writes gritty stories about submission and coercion. Occasionally he tosses a hand grenade of action and adventure into the mix. Huck’s stories are vivid fantasies, exploring the darker sides of submission and exposure. In Huck’s stories, the mousy girl becomes suddenly bold and capable, often discovering the hidden slut inside her. The men are handsome, hard-bitten, and cruel, enjoying all manner of debauchery.

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