David Crane

Wide-open babysitter

CHAPTER ONE

Belinda Roberts was young.

She was a schoolgirl, of course, and it was just as well that she went to a modern, permissive school that did not have a dress code, because she was in the habit of wearing clothing that emphasized her nubile body. It annoyed her female teachers, but there was nothing they could do about it in this permissive society, except frown at her and – quite possibly – feel a bit envious of her youthful and sexy charms. It intrigued her male teachers, who sometimes got hard-ons in class and had to hide behind desks and charts until the condition went away. And it positively delighted her female gym teacher, who was known to have lesbian inclinations.

It also excited the boys in her class, disrupting the learning process to an inordinate degree.

Today she had excelled herself.

She was wearing a cotton tee-shirt that was two sizes too small and left little to the imagination. She wore no bra and the shirt was molded to the thrusting outline of her firm tits and peaked over her stiff nipples. The tee-shirt was tucked into a pair of jeans that had been cut off at an angle high up the thighs. The jeans were as tight as the tee-shirt. They fit her juicy little ass like a coat of paint and, at the crotch, were dragged up into a vee – as if her cunt was pulling them in by suction. This outfit would have been sexy on anyone – on a girl built like Belinda, it was stunning.

She was tall for her age and most of her height came from her long, smooth, shapely legs. Those legs seemed to stretch forever from the floor to the tiny pussy cover of her shorts, and when she crossed them it was not impossible to peer up the leghole of those shorts and catch a climpse of crotch. She crossed her legs frequently.

She was slender, but her tits jutted out firmly proudly. They were not awfully large as, tits, but her slim torso they looked larger than they were and her nipples, perfectly outlined in her shirt, were perpetually stiff. Her ass was a teardrop, flowing out from her waist and cutting sharply in to the backs of her thighs and those shorts were cut off so high that the bottom of her asscheeks tended to be seen.

Belinda had blonde hair, which she wore in a tumbled mane, cascading to her shoulders. Her face, framed in that wild golden cascade, was as sexy as her body. She had big, blue eyes that should have looked innocent, but instead looked knowing and sultry beyond her years. Her mouth was wide, the heavy lower lip turned outwards in a pouting Bardot fashion. She could look at a man – or a lesbian – in a way that would melt a heart and harden a prick on the spot.

And Belinda was no phony.