Top 10 Lesbian Babysitters

She arrived on time. Hair twisted back, shirt crisp, mouth soft. The baby slept in its crib upstairs while the parents locked the front door behind them. From then on it was just them—the young sitter in borrowed perfume and the wife still buttoned in her cocktail dress, voices low because the house felt bigger than it needed to at eleven at night. She moved first, stepping between the woman’s knees while she sat on the leather sofa. Fingers traced the seam of stocking along a bent thigh, stopped at the garter, pulled, let it snap back. That sound made the wife open her mouth, and the sitter took it with her tongue. They stood together in the kitchen with the faucet still running and the sitter bent the woman over the sink so she could work two fingers under the fabric of a silk thong, easing it to one side. Water hissed against the stainless steel; soft exhalations echoed louder. When the sitter finally slid inside her, knuckles-deep, the sound the woman made was raw enough to make the top cabinets rattle. She was wet to the wrist after, wrist aching from the slow, grinding circles she gave until the wife’s thighs trembled and the countertop felt slick under both of them. Later, they lay in a stack of coats in the hallway, bodies still humming, lipstick smeared across pale shoulders, heartbeats shaking with the certainty that the car in the driveway was exactly twelve minutes away.