Babisitting Alex
- 2 years ago
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SamChapter 4A free porn video
The shoe expedition was a great success. In addition to new walking shoes, I got some loafers and comfortable casual shoes. But most of the shoes were to go with my new clothes that Mr. Morton had said would be ready on Tuesday. They were mostly strappy flats in a variety of colors and styles. My favorites were a pair of Roman sandals with straps that wrapped around my calves all the way to my knees. I thought they would be a nice balance to my breasts in my toga outfit.
A couple of pairs had really tall narrow heels. I thought they were uncomfortable and I could hardly walk in them, but Bambi said I would get used to them and that they really showed off my legs and butt. After looking in the mirror, I could not argue with that. The shoes made all the muscles in my legs and butt tighten up. They gave my ass-cheeks a great set of dimples. Most importantly to me, they made me several inches taller.
We spent a long time trying to figure out what I could wear to show them off. We finally decided on a pair of skin-tight silver shorts and a top that was a single polychrome-spandex strap covered that looped twice around my back and over my boobs, just barely covering my wide areolas. The whole thing was designed to show the maximum amount of skin without me being actually naked. Bambi said that this would be the ultimate party outfit. I told her that I had never been to a party where this sort of thing was worn, but she assured me that I would be invited to a much better class of party than I had been used to. She said that there was a big demand for girls like me to go to parties just to stand around and look pretty. I told her I thought I could handle the work, but the hours left something to be desired.
While we were looking at lingerie, I told Bambi how good I thought Yvette looked in her horse's tail.
"Now that would be something to wear with those heels." She said. "That would really show off your rear end."
"Do you know where I can get that kind of thing?"
"Oh yes. I have a few at home. They are part of some Pony-Girl costumes that Ben bought me. The costumes have lots of accessories, like bridles and harnesses."
"Bridles and harnesses?"
"And the cart that you pull with the harness. There are competitions and races and everything. I don't have a cart. I never entered a race, but I was in a competition once. I won second place. I would have had first place, but the other girl's tack included connecting her harness to rings in her pierced nipples. The judges were quite impressed with that detail."
"Well, I don't know about the rest, but I have to see what I look like with a tail."
"I'd like to see that, too. I'll dig them out for you. "
"Pierced nipples, hunh?"
"Don't even go there, honey. For any woman larger than a D-cup, piercing her nipples is like painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa. No matter how well it's done, it can't possibly be an improvement. Besides, I should think you would have had enough of things hanging on your nipples."
"You're not going to believe this, but I sort of miss it."
"Tell me you're kidding."
"No. Seriously. I miss the stimulation. I guess that's why I am interested in lactating and breast pumps and everything. I'm looking for an excuse to fool with my new boobs."
"What about the pain? Doesn't that discourage you?"
"I guess not. At first it was hard to stand, but after awhile it... It's hard to explain. It's not that it felt 'good', but it was just such a powerful feeling that after it's gone you feel... empty."
"Endorphins."
"Gesundheit."
"Ha ha. Brain chemicals. Pain causes your body to release natural narcotics into your blood. You could be getting high on your own endorphins. Be careful you don't turn into a pain slut."
"'Pain slut'? Oh, yuck. That sounds awful."
"Some girls get hooked on the endorphins. It makes you a masochist. Some take it too far and end up mutilated, or worse."
"You're scaring me."
"I hope so. People get addicted to all sorts of things, not just street drugs."
"They give us all this anti-drug information in school. But it's all about not drinking and not doing party drugs. Why don't they say anything about endorphins?"
"Probably because they don't want you to know the synthetic narcotics they are warning you about are just weak imitations of the stuff your own body produces. You, above all people, should know that there is no drug that can match what you can do inside your own head."
"You mean like making an orgasm last all day? Or being able to trance-out whenever I like? That can be fun, but the more I think about that stuff, the weirder I feel about it. It's not normal."
"Listen, 'normal' is just a mathematical abstraction, like 'average' or 'lowest common denominator'. You've learned those in Math class, right?"
"Yeah."
"Well, if you get a 100 on a test and the class average is 85, does that make you abnormal?"
"I hope not! I've been doing really good in my classes since some mean woman started making me hit the books every afternoon."
"Good! Then you're above average. That's what 'supernormal' means."
"Shoot! I was thinking of wearing a fishnet teddy with a big 'S', for Samantha, on the front."
"That sounds interesting, but you're distracting me from my point. Can everyone in your class be above average?"
"Well, if they all studied hard, they could raise their grades. I guess they could all be above average, then."
"Nope. They can't."
"Well, why not? If everyone made 100 on the tests..."
"Then the average grade would be 100. See? You are talking about measuring yourself against the average, when really, the average is a measure of you."
"So if I can do things that are supernormal..."
"Then you just raised the average for everybody."
"So I shouldn't be afraid of the things I can do anymore than I should be afraid of making a perfect grade on a Math test?"
"That's right. I was concerned that when I told you to hide your abilities that you would think I was implying that they were something to be ashamed of. Sam, if you can do something better than anyone else, or if you can do something that no one else can do, then you are just improving what's normal, not breaking some kind of rule about what you should and shouldn't be able to do. I just want you to be discreet, because there are a lot of people who don't understand this. They think that anyone different from them is automatically bad, and anyone better than them is somehow a threat."
"So I should try not to make people jealous?"
"Jealous, envious, scared, ashamed of their own inability to measure up to you, however you want to put it — yes, that's what I mean."
"But you were just telling me not to think of myself as 'super'. Now you're telling me I need a secret identity."
"I guess I am. As long as you understand that there is nothing wrong with being 'super' and why having a 'secret identity', as you put it, protects you. Actually, you have a leg-up on this 'secret-identity' business. I can tell you from experience that lots of people are going to assume that your IQ is inversely proportional to your bust size and being blonde just adds to that misconception."
"Oh, great. My secret identity is going to be a dumb blonde with big tits."
"You'd rather be an ugly, flat-chested, brunette, Nobel Prize-winning scientist?"
"I'd rather be a beautiful Amazon princess."
"Difficult. Can we compromise on beautiful, blonde, Nobel Prize-winning scientist, with big tits?"
"That works for me!"
"Good. Then I better get you home so you can finish studying before your date tonight."
"Awwwww. I've been had."
"By my count, at least four times today."
"Very funny. Want to make it five?"
"Always. But study first. Future Nobel Prize winners need to keep their grades up."
"Do you really think I could win a Nobel Prize?" I asked.
Bambi took her time answering. "Yes," she said at last.
"You thought that over."
"Yes, I did."
I was about to complain that she took long enough to decide, when I realized that a quick answer would have meant she hadn't thought it through and a slow one meant that she had considered it seriously. Suddenly, I saw schoolwork in a new light. The goal wasn't to get good marks on my report card. The goal was to be able to do something with what I was learning. That was going to be much harder. I pictured a frame on the wall in the hall with a report cards with all 'A's on it. Then I pictured that frame with a certificate from the Nobel Foundation in it. I made myself a promise that those report cards were never going to be a permanent fixture on that wall.
We left the lingerie department with several minimal thongs and a couple of really lovely nightgowns. One was green, a simple stretch satin gown that looked elegant and felt wonderful on my skin. The other was a sheer cloud of white gauze that weighed nothing and hid nothing. The first was for sleeping in. The second one I did not expect to wear for more than a few minutes at a time.
When we had put all my new things away in my closet, there was still a lot of room left. Bambi assured me that we would eventually fill it up. I thought it would take a lot of shopping trips to fill that big closet, especially since most of my new clothes took up hardly any space at all. After all those trips, I would be very well-dressed and probably very spoiled. Bambi had obviously spoiled her sons. I could tell by the way she looked at me that she intended to spoil me rotten as well. I told myself that I would just have to bear up under that burden as best I could.
"OK, now go study." She instructed. "Use anyplace you like but the family room. I will be cleaning in there."
"I thought you had maid service," I said, surprised that she would stoop to her own housecleaning.
"I do, but they only come on Monday and Thursday," she said. "I know you and the boys will probably want to have your party down there and I want it to be as nice as possible for you."
"Thank you! But you don't have to do that. I'll clean it. I want to pull my weight around here."
"No, honey. Your job right now is to study. Let me do this. If you are looking for chores to do, you can take on feeding and watering the dog. The boys tend to forget, so you can take over that job. Besides, Brute seems to have become attached to you. I'm sure he would like to have you be the one to feed him. He gets one bowl of the dry food in the morning and another in the evening. Change his water at the same time and keep his bowls clean. OK?"
"Oh, yes! Thank you! I promise I'll take good care of him." If Bud and Jim had failed to take proper care of him and I took on the job, then that made him my dog. I had never had a pet before. Brute would be my first.
It was after four when I finished my schoolwork. I went over all my assignments carefully to be sure I had everything correct and I even read a chapter ahead in my textbooks so I would be able to better understand the new material we would cover in the following week. I also made notes of things that were unclear to me so I could ask questions about them in class. The Nobel Prize might never actually hang on the wall, but it wouldn't be because I had slacked on my schoolwork. I actually regretted that I hadn't had this kind of motivation a lot earlier. Who knows what I might have been able to do?
After packing up my bookbag, I went down to the kitchen and out the side door. There was a tall wooden gate in front of a wooden staircase that led down to the back yard of the house. At the foot of the steps and next to the house was a small garden shed with a sink. Under the sink was a 50-pound bag of dog food that was about half full. I wondered how long a bag like that lasted a dog as big as Brute. Next to the sink was a workbench that was obviously used to pot plants. I had seen some strong-looking hooks for hanging planted baskets in the ceiling just inside the French doors of the family room, but they were not being used. Since it was early spring, I thought I might volunteer to manage the houseplants. The idea of finding ways to make myself useful around the house gave me a warm feeling. Doing some chores made me feel like I was a part of the family and not just a guest living in one of the rooms.
Brute's food and water bowls were on the ground just around the corner of the shed. The food bowl was empty and the water was half gone. As I emptied the old water out onto the foundation plants, I marveled at how big the bowls were. Each was the size of a large mixing bowl and would hold over a half-gallon. Everything about Brute was big.
I washed out the bowls thoroughly and refilled them. I had no trouble with filling the food bowl from the big bag, as there was a scoop in it for that purpose. I tried to carry the water carefully to keep from sloshing it, but I stumbled over the garden hose and got it all over me anyway. I realized then that I should have used the hose to fill the water bowl rather than carrying it from the sink.
I was standing there with water dripping off me when I heard something crash through the woods that bordered the yard. It startled me. It sounded like a herd of buffalo charging through the underbrush and I froze as I listened to the sound of branches snapping.
I laughed when the bushes parted and Brute bounded out of the woods. I shook my head as my concern evaporated and I watched the dog approach. Even at a distance, he looked huge. He crossed the yard so quickly that I hardly had time to blink, even though I knew it was at least 200 feet from the house to the trees. Brute was on me in a flash, jumping and sniffing and licking me like I was his favorite person on Earth. I tried to give as good as I got, petting and rubbing and scratching him as vigorously as I could. I was greatly overmatched, though. He had almost a hundred pound advantage and he was incredibly strong. I was in awe of the sheer power of such a magnificent animal. The dog was so happy to have me play with him that I could not help but feel happy too. His energy seemed limitless. Several times he knocked me to the ground as we played. The next time this happened, I grabbed his neck and swung onto his back, locking my legs around his body. Even though I was half his weight, he moved easily, as though I was no more than a fly. Having me clinging to his back while he ran around the yard did not bother him a bit. He seemed to like the new game and he ran and jumped while I held on tight and pressed my face into the fur of his neck. The sensation of having my whole body against all that solid muscle as he moved was intoxicating. The heat he gave off when he ran soaked into me like it had before in the house when he had tried to lie in my lap.
We went around and around the yard, going faster with each lap until my hands slipped and I fell off into the grass. I rolled to my feet and jumped at the dog, but he shied away. It turned into a game of tag, where I would chase him and try to jump on his back and he would dodge; and then he would chase me and I would try to escape.
We spent a lot of time at this until I was too exhausted to keep it up and collapsed onto the ground, trying to catch my breath. Brute stopped playing immediately and came over to see if I was OK. He bent down his huge head and licked my face and neck with his big tongue until I was forced to get up or drown in doggie-drool.
I looked down at my clothes and saw that they were filthy from the dirt and grass.
"Oh, no! At least these weren't my new clothes," I said, half to myself and half to the dog. This top and shorts would never be the same again.
"I guess these will have to be my grubbies from now on."
Brute looked at me guiltily. He tried to clean the green smudge off my knee by licking it. It was strange, the way he seemed to know what I was saying.
"Thanks," I said. "But I think I'll need soap for that."
I patted Brute goodbye and went back up the stairs as he trotted off into the woods to terrorize the local squirrel population some more. As I reached the kitchen door, Bambi called out to me.
"Sam! There you are. I wanted to know what kind of pizza you wanted for tonight before I called in the order. We have all the... what the hell happened to you?"
I tried to stand up straight and look natural, but I knew it was hopeless. I just stood there with my clothes twisted and dirty, looking like a poor waif.
"Good grief, child." She scolded. "Have you been playing with the dog or has he been playing with you? You look like he buried you and then dug you up. Well, if you want to trash those clothes, I wouldn't blame you."
"I think I'll keep them to wear outside. I had fun playing with Brute. He's a sweetie."
"Go get cleaned up." She said. "What would you like to wear tonight? I'll lay it out for you."
"The blue dress with the halter-top. It will go nicely with her green sun-dress."
"Good choice. That one will really show off your 'tattoo'. I'll just run the iron over it for you."
As I got out my towels and washcloth, I wondered if all this domesticity was because of me. Mrs. Reynolds had never struck me as someone you would catch holding a hot clothes-iron. Yet, she certainly seemed to be enjoying it. I thought she might have been a closet homemaker all along, but never had a chance to show off that side of her. 'Mrs. Reynolds' would have been a house-manager, not a housekeeper.
In addition to the shower, big bathtub, double sinks and long countertop, my bathroom had a bidet, which was a brand new experience for me. I knew enough to get on before I turned the water on, but I had never actually used one before. After I tried it, I didn't see how I was ever going to do without one again. Bambi might be a novice as a domestic goddess, but she sure knew how to design a bathroom.
After I soaked off all the dirt and grass-stains, I started on my hair. I wear a short style that's easy to live with. It doesn't need curlers or hot-irons or mousse, which cuts down the hassle a whole lot, but I am fussy about getting my bangs to hang just right. I had just reached for my makeup kit when I laughed to myself and pushed it away again. "Old habits die hard," I said to myself. I leaned forward to get a closer look at my face in the mirror and after a couple of minutes of trance-concentration, I had a light blush on my cheeks, pale pink glossy lips, highlights under my eyes and a credible outliner. I found the only thing I could not simulate was mascara. Apparently hair, being just so much dead tissue, was beyond my mental control. It was a good lesson for me, showing me that there were, after all, limits to my abilities. Still, it was good to know that my makeup would stay exactly as it was until I decided to change it. I could live without extra-long lashes. The stuff was always getting in my eyes anyway.
I was dressed and downstairs just a couple of minutes before six. It was a good thing, too. When I looked out the front window, I saw Neeka walking up the sidewalk. She seemed to be having trouble. She was walking stiff-legged and she stopped a couple of times and held on to a pole or a sign. I was concerned, until I realized what her problem was. She had followed my instructions to the letter and not touched herself for the last 24 hours. The poor dear must have been about ready to pop from the frustration. Walking up the hill was probably so much stimulation between her legs that she was on the verge of orgasm with every step. Just watching her was making me wet.
As I stood there, Bambi came up beside me. One look told her the same thing it told me.
"What on Earth did you do to that poor girl?" she asked with a smile.
"I told her she couldn't cum until I told her to." I grinned. "I'm a stinker. But it was your idea to give her something to think about."
"Oh, my! You're not going to leave her like that, are you?"
"No, I just need to get her in front of Jim and Bud and I will let her go."
"They are already downstairs. But, why?"
"Jim and I have a bet."
"Do I want to know?"
"I bet Jim that I could get my date naked quicker that he could get his."
"Oh, you devil. He'll lose. He has to know you could probably get a total stranger naked in under five minutes. I'm not sure he could find the hooks on a bra in that time."
"Yes, but boys have this ego problem with being beaten by girls. It was a proposition he could not refuse."
"Too true. Would you like me to leave? The pizzas came. I put them in the oven to keep warm. I can go upstairs if you want privacy."
"Oh, Mom, you're the best. But Bambi needs to be here. I think Neeka has a message for you."
"You think?"
"I think a conversation took place when Fiona found out where her daughter was going tonight. I think the Morgan women have a lot in common and may communicate better than many mothers and daughters. We are about to find out how deep that goes. She's here."
Fay
- 13.02.2022
- 13
- 0
