index

Message-ID: <31182asstr$993946205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: jimmy@jimmy-hat.com (Jimmy Hat)
Subject: {ASSM} Of Baby Sitters and Pizza Drivers (MF oral)  
Date: Sat, 30 Jun 2001 20:10:05 -0400
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 work contains graphic depictions of sex acts.
Please do not continue if this makes you uncomfortable,
or violates laws in your part of the world.

This story is Copyright 2001 by Jimmy Hat (jimmy@jimmy-hat.com)
----------------------------------------------------------------------

OF BABY SITTERS AND PIZZA DRIVERS 



Heather Stanton sat down on the sofa of the modest suburban home
at 1728 Michaels Street and sighed. She fished the cell phone
from her bag and selected a preprogrammed number. 

After two rings, a familiar voice said, "Hello, this is Agent
Maytag." 

"They left me," she said. 

"Stanton?" Maytag asked. "Who left you?" 

"He did. The client," Stanton "They both did." 

"Are you alone, then?" Maytag asked. 

"Of course not," she said. "The kid is upstairs sleeping." 

"So are you actually going to have to babysit for the evening?" 

"Looks that way," she said petulantly. 

"Don't blame me," Maytag said. "For once this investigation was
your idea." 

"It looked like a sure thing, Maytag. You saw it. Who places a
help wanted ad for 'adult baby sitters comfortable with mature
entertainment'?" Stanton certainly thought the case was a winner.
She even wore a short skirt and heels to help play the part. 

"Maybe this is just a test," he said. "Or maybe someone made you
for a cop." 

"Not a chance. The agency did rush me out, though. Dispatched me
by phone before I even got to their office." 

"Should I call on the agency?" 

"Yeah, see what you find out." 

"Will do. What about you?" 

"There's a T.V. There's leftovers. What else is a babysitter
supposed to do?" 

"Call her boyfriend and invite him over to the house," Maytag
joked. 

"That's right," she said. "And instead I'm talking to you on the
phone." 

"Hang in there, Stanton." 

"Yeah, yeah. Good luck, Maytag." 

Maytag ended the call and asked for the check. He had been
reading the paper and a cup of coffee at a roadside shop close to
Stanton's location. He took a clipping from his jacket pocket and
dialed a number. 

"Baby Sitters and Others," said a cheerful voice. "How can I help
you?" 

"Yes," he said. "I was wondering if I could ask you a few
questions about your service?" 

"Certainly, sir. I can answer your questions or you can visit our
facility for more information." 

"Your facility?" Maytag asked. 

"That's correct, sir." She gave him the address. 

Maytag looked at his watch. "What time do you close?" 

She giggled on the other end of the line. "All night, sir. You
really should come down and learn more." 

* * * 

After hanging up with Maytag, Stanton walked to the kitchen. If
she couldn't invite her boyfriend over for some old-fashioned
necking, at least she could raid the fridge. Things looked
promising: there was a wide assortment of leftovers on the
shelves. She removed a plate covered with foil and peeked at the
contents. 

Fried chicken. Stanton could not remember the last time she had a
leftover fried chicken drumstick. It was her mother's, though,
and it was probably close to her last babysitting gig. No need to
microwave, this, she thought. Stanton took a bite. 

Instantly, she spit it back. She had no idea what that taste was,
but it was not her mother's chicken. No microwave could help
that. Incendiary devices might not be able to help that chicken. 

To make her evening worse, all the food she sampled from the
fridge was simply awful. "At least I have soda," she mumbled
aloud on spotting the cans on the countertop. She grabbed a
glass, filled it with ice from the freezer and poured root beer
over that. She took a sip, only to discover that, somehow, the
ice cubes tasted the same as the chicken. 

"At least I have warm soda," she said, dumping the rancid ice
into the sink. She was beginning to wonder what she did to get
such luck. Then she thought of the kid upstairs, facing years of
bad cooking. "Poor bastard." 

Stanton walked back to the living room with a warm soda. Flipping
through the channels, she found nothing of interest. Stuck with
bad food, bad TV, and no boyfriend in sight, she grew hungry and
bored. She lifted the phone to call Maytag and the idea struck
her. Why not call for pizza? 

* * * 

A large illuminated sign told Maytag he was at the right place.
It read, "BABY SITTERS and OTHER MARITAL AIDES" and in smaller
letters underneath "All Our Girls Are Over 18", and in still
smaller letters under that, "some are even over 20". 

Maytag walked in through frosted glass double doors, and pressed
a buzzer to gain entry through a second set. He entered a
reception area. A girl behind the desk in a white shirt, her
brown hair set in pigtails, greeted him. She wore a headset, the
small black microphone hovering in front of lips painted bubble
gum pink. "Hello, how can I help you?" she said. It was the same
voice Maytag heard before. 

"I just spoke with you on the phone," Maytag said. "You said I
should come down and find out more about the service." 

"Oh, yeah," she said, standing up. "I'm Kaitlyn." 

"Gerry," he said. He noticed she wore a red plaid skirt. Her
white blouse was not tucked in, but tied in a knot at her waist,
showing a bit of skin. "Let me take you back to one of the
rooms." 

"The rooms?" Maytag asked. She did not hear him, though, and he
was too busy watching her to repeat it. 

Kaitlyn stepped out from behind the desk. Black patent leather
shoes and white knee-high socks completed her outfit. She pointed
to the headphone. "I hope you don't mind if I keep this on. We're
short handed tonight. Even had to send a brand new girl out
without training." 

"No problem." Maytag watched her as she walked. She was slender,
and moved with a lightness in her step. "Do you mind if I ask how
old you are?" 

"I'm twenty," she said. "The sign is true. The last thing this
company needs is underage girls working here. Well, here it is!"
She opened a door and led Maytag through it. The inside resembled
a motel bedroom, only smaller, and redder. 

"This is a basic room, so there's a shower in the bathroom, but
no Jacuzzi. There's a list of movies by the bed, just call the
desk and we'll bring one to you for a small fee. We don't have a
liquor license, so it's B.Y.O.B., but we do sell mixers pretty
cheap." 

Kaitlyn walked over to a small cabinet. "This is the honor bar,"
she said with a laugh. She opened the cabinet to reveal an array
of whips, riding crops, dildos, and other toys. "Just break the
seal holding back the toy to use it. The price for using each toy
is on the seal. Or you can purchase the toy chest option on the
room to get access to access to all for one price." 

"So these are the other marital aides, then," Maytag stated. 

"Yup." she said, rocking back on her black heels with her hands
clasped behind her plaid skirt. All that seemed missing was a
lollipop. 

"And you would be a baby sitter?" 

"Right again." She slid out one leg so her feet were shoulder
length apart. 

"Mixers, videos, toys...all cost extra." Maytag said. 

"Mm-hmm." She turned one foot out and lifted it so that the shiny
black toe of the shoe pointed up in the air. 

"How about babysitters?" 

"Babysitters are extra, too." 

"Will you come to the room?" 

She twirled a pigtail in her finger. "Nope." 

"No?" Maytag sounded disappointed. 

"Nope," Kaitlyn repeated. "We're babysitters, not face sitters." 

Maytag looked confused. 

"Sorry," she said. "Shelly uses that line with pushy customers. I
guess it just slipped. Not that you're being pushy! It's just,
y'know." 

"No problem, really," Maytag said. "But you have to admit: the
sign outside, your uniform, the sales pitch. It's all a little
leading." 

"Well, duh. You're supposed to come her with your wife or
whatever. Get some time away from the kids. Get nasty here with
stuff you threw away when Junior was born." 

Maytag shrugged. "Not married." 

"I see." 

Maytag scratched his head. "So how's business?" 

"Great. Especially this time of year. Kids out of school, parents
start to go nuts. This is my second year," she said with a grin. 

"And in all that time, you've never..." 

Kaitlyn bit down on her lower lip and shook her head no. "I've
had offers. But I won't risk my job. The pay is pretty good for
straight baby sitting. Now at some other places around here, I
don't know. Like if it were my old boyfriend's job? Things might
be different." 

"What did your old boyfriend do for work?" 

"Pizza delivery. Paid, like, nothing, and even the tips weren't
always that great. But Glenn, that's my ex-boyfriend, he could
just drive all night listening to music and stuff. I mean, that's
what he was going to do anyways." Now she played with the top
button of her blouse. "So whenever some bored woman offered to
let him in, he went for it. There were some good looking ones,
but he wasn't picky. They even tipped him extra, and he thought
it was grounds for stiffing him. 'I stiffed them, after all,' he
said." 

"You know this for a fact?" Maytag asked. 

"It's why I broke up with him," Kaitlyn said. "It got worse. They
turned it into the house special there. They actually audition
drivers beforehand." 

"Really?" Maytag asked, but his mind looked to be working on
something else. 

"I'll bet you didn't come here to learn all this!" Kaitlyn
laughed. 

"No," Maytag said. "But I'll take what I can get." 

* * * 

Stanton was raised on simple, thin crusted, margherita pizzas
before the chains and their doughy, cheese laden imitations came
to prominence. The last thing she wanted was to order one of
those. She sifted through the yellow pages for the trace of a
quality pizza. She never expected the Rossi Pizza ad. 

There was the pizza she had imagined, but next to it was a an
illustrated pepperoni flanked by two garlic cloves that presented
a rather deliberate phallic symbol. Above the image was the bold
type, "ROSSI'S FAMOUS $100 MEAT PIZZA" and in smaller cursive
print, "You Know You Want It". Maybe. Stanton dialed the number. 

A gruff voice answered the phone. "Rossi's pizza." 

"Yes, I'd like to place an order for the famous $100 meat pizza." 

"Hold on a second," the voice said. She heard the man muffle the
phone. He returned. "You're in luck, we can send one out right
away. Address?" 

"Just what do you get for $100?" 

"The finest in imported Italian meats," he said. 

"Anything else?" 

"Look, lady, I'm not gonna play games over the phone. Do you want
the famous or not?" 

"Yes." 

"Address, please." 

"1728 Michaels," Stanton told him. 

"Phone number?" 

Stanton read it off the phone. 

"We don't take checks," he said. "Cash or charge?" 

Stanton did not have that much cash with her. She charged it. 

"The price doesn't include the tip," the man said. "We can do
that on your card now if you want." 

"But I haven't seen what the service is like," she protested. 

"Fine, but please keep it in mind," he said. 

"I'll take good care of him," she promised. 

When the man said "right away" he wasn't kidding. Stanton had
just finished primping when she heard the doorbell. She took one
last chance to adjust her hair, kissproof her lipstick, and undo
the top button of her blouse. Stanton opened the door as a deadly
display of blue eyes, painted lips, and decolletage. 

On the other side of the door stood a guy in his early 20s,
taller than Stanton by a bit, with dark hair and darker eyes.
"Rossi's pizza," the man announced. That bit was unnecessary. He
was holding a pizza box and his red polo shirt had "ROSSI'S"
embroidered on the left breast. He had a cute smile, a chest that
pushed out against the shirt and a gut that didn't. Not exactly
the ideal fantasy delivery guy, but a reasonable approximation. 

"I've been expecting you," Stanton said with a grin. His eyes
dropped to her bosom, and her grin twisted to a wry smirk. "Let
me take that and I'll go get your tip." 

Stanton treated him to another smile as she took hold of the
cardboard box and walked back inside the house. Bending at the
waist, she placed the box on the coffee table and grabbed a ten
dollar bill. Just in case he managed to miss that, halfway to the
door she let the bill slip out of hand. 

"Oops!" Stanton exclaimed. She repeated the leg show, keeping her
knees locked and doubling over to grab the bill from the floor. 

"Here you are," she said as she reached the door. She dropped the
bill short of his grasp, though, and it fluttered to the floor.
"I am such a klutz today!" This time, Stanton crouched to
retrieve the money, offering a bombardier's view of her cleavage
in the process. 

Rising, she smiled at him. He coughed. She botched the exchange
once more. "Oh, again with this thing!" 

"Maybe I should get it," he said. 

"Thank you," Stanton said in reply. 

He bent down on one knee, and fumbled for the tip. His eyes were
locked on Stanton's legs. Once he had the bill in his clutch, he
started to rise. Stanton stopped him with a hand on his head. 

"There's more where that came from," she said. 

"More?" he repeated, his eyes level with the hem of her skirt. 

"More," Stanton assured him. She lifted a leg and swung it over
his shoulder. "More of everything." 

It wasn't subtle, and neither was his reaction. He planted a kiss
on her inner thigh and his hands on her rump. The boy needed no
further instructions. As Stanton braced herself against the door
jamb, he worked his mouth along her thigh and his hands over her
ass. Soon, her skirt was draped over his head, and he was licking
her trim pussy while one hand held her cotton panties to the
side. 

Wordlessly and frantically, they made their way to the couch.
Crawling, walking, and crawling again, they made frequent stops
to grope and embrace. They left a trail of clothing behind them.
They moved only a few yards, but were breathing so hard when they
got there that it seemed they ran miles. 

This was not the long make out session Stanton pictured earlier,
but more a frantic "do it before the parents get back" tussle. He
knew that dance well. Despite the rush, he managed a wide array
of foreplay, from nibbling on her earlobes, to breathing heavy on
her neck, to kissing all the way down her body. On the couch he
made her creamy slit creamier with fingers and tongue, ending the
foreplay where he had started the whole affair. 

The pizza guy penetrated easily, like a trained high diver
piercing the surface of the pool. He humped steadily and with
great vigor. Soon, he had a sheen of sweet on his upper body and
a look of delirium on his face. His orgasm was halting. 

Stanton didn't mind that he came so quickly. It almost seemed to
be the point. Besides, she was getting off more from the illicit
thrill than any traditional fucking. Her heart was racing, and
would be still after he left. 

They scrambled back into their clothes. Stanton's hunger returned
and she lifted the lid on the box. "That smells great," she said. 

Zipping up his pants, he looked over at her. "Yeah, that's a good
pizza." 

Stanton looked at the surface, covered lightly with sauce and
cheese, garnished liberally with slices and shavings of meat,
blistered by the odd air bubble or two in the dough. It smelled
of tomato, basil, ham. She took a bite. "Delicious," she said.
"Is that prosciutto?" 

"Yeah," he said, puzzled. "You ordered the $100 meat pizza. That
comes with Parma prosciutto, soppresata -- a whole bunch of
imported stuff." 

"Oh, that's good," she said. It might have been the after effects
of the sex, but that pizza was tasty. 

"Mind if I take a sip of that soda?" he asked. 

"Go, ahead," she said. "It's a little warm, though." 

* * * 

Kaitlyn led Maytag back to the reception area. "Thanks for the
tour," he said. 

"No problem," Kaitlyn answered. 

"Could I ask you one more thing about this pizza place?" 

"Sure," she said, slipping behind the desk. 

"What do you know about the auditions?" 

Kaitlyn licked her lips and smiled. "Did Glenn send you over
here?" 

"No," Maytag said. "What if he did?" 

"I knew it! I told him after that last one that I wasn't going to
do it anymore. Now he thinks I'm going to at work, huh?" 

"I don't know what you mean," Maytag said, though he thought he
was beginning to understand. 

"Look, you're a nice guy, and kind of cute, so I'll go along with
this. But tell Glenn I can't do this at work anymore. No matter
what else goes on here, I have to be a little professional." 

"Okay," Maytag agreed. 

"Well, come on then," she said, rolling the chair out from the
desk. "You can squeeze in under the desk." 

Hesitantly, Maytag moved to the floor and crawled under the desk.
He turned halfway round and found himself staring at Kaitlyn's
legs. The red plaid skirt draped over her firm thighs, and he
could see between them to a pair of panties as white as her
blouse. 

Kaitlyn rolled her chair toward Maytag. She gripped the armrests
and scooted forward in the seat. She hooked her legs behind her
and parted her legs until her knees were past the width of the
armrests. 

"That looks good," Maytag said. 

"How about this?" Kaitlyn asked. She dove a hand under her skirt
and pulled the underwear aside. 

"Even better," Maytag said. He was inches away from her slit. He
could smell her. 

"Glad you like it. Now can you find the man in the boat?" 

Maytag buried his face in her twat. A mass of soft curls
surrounded her pussy, and they tickled his nose and cheeks. He
pressed his lips against the grapefruit red folds of skin, and
sucked on them like candy. "Oh, yeah. Eat me." 

With one hand to steady the chair, and the other to pry her
thighs wider apart, Maytag made himself a work area. It grew hot
under the chair and between her legs. Sweat formed on his brow
and along her smooth legs. Spit from his licking began to collect
on the chair. 

Kaitlyn swung a thigh over the armrest, and used a hand to hold
onto the desk. She rode Maytag's face, rolling the whole chair
back and forth. 

Now with ample room, Maytag slid his hand from her thigh and
moved it to her bush. When his tongue slid inside her, he ran a
thumb over her clit. If his tongue flicked her pearl, he pushed a
finger inside her cunt. 

Kaitlyn seemed to like that. "Oh, yeah. Like that." Maytag pushed
a second finger inside her, pushing against the tight slippery
walls. He moved them in and out, the two bottom knuckles gliding
over the stubble of his chin. 

"Oh, yes, yes," she moaned. Kaitlyn had stopped rolling and was
now simply rocking in place, pushing her twat firmly against his
face, squashing his nose. 

Maytag lashed at her clit with his tongue like a hummingbird
trying to stay aloft. He pushed his fingers in slowly, deeply. He
felt Kaitlyn contracting against them, squeezing with the
strength of a fist. Just as he was imagining what that would feel
like against his own swollen prick, Kaitlyn let out a tremendous
moan. 

She tried to push away, but Maytag grabbed the armrests and held
her to him. He licked furiously and drove her orgasm forward. She
groaned and closed her thighs around him. The spasms stopped and
he withdrew his fingers from her. 

Maytag was sweating and felt cramped. He stood and stretched, and
looked down at the dark patch of wetness on the armchair. He
wiped his face with his open palm, and came away with the strong
smell of her pussy. 

"Fucking fabulous," Kaitlyn said, rolling her neck on her
shoulders. "You get my vote for the job." 

"That's it?" 

"Yeah," Kaitlyn said. "Looks like I lied: I am a facesitter." 

"I mean, nothing else?" 

"Well, you're supposed to pay me, but I can straighten it out
with Glenn later." She slumped in the chair and exhaled. "Really,
nice work. You were great." 

"Thanks," Maytag said. 

Kaitlyn smiled. "You're welcome, pizza man." 

* * * 

Stanton answered her cell phone. 

"Hey, it's me," Maytag said. "So your baby sitter sting was a
bust, huh?" 

"Yeah," she said. "Nothing doing at the main office, then?" 

"Not what you would expect, anyway. But I did get a great lead on
a pizza place that seems to be running a prostitution ring." 

"I know all about it. Rossi's famous $100 meat pizza, right?" 

"No," Maytag sounded surprised. "Vento's. What's a famous $100
meat pizza?" 

"Never mind," Stanton said. 

"So, should we set up a sting at 1728 Michaels?" he asked. 

"No," Stanton said. "I'm stuffed already." 

END 
----------------------------------------------------------------------

I hope you enjoyed that, and I'd love to hear your comments.
There is an anonymous e-mail form (and more stories) at 
http://www.jimmy-hat.com , or you can mail me 
directly at jimmy@jimmy-hat.com

Anyone wishing to charge fees for access to this material, 
through any media or publication, must receive the written
permission of Jimmy Hat.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> |
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html>  Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository |
|<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations.         |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+