VIP Girl

Jaclyn Taylor's giving that babysitter Elektra Rose the once-over, the kind that makes the room feel smaller. She tells her she wants something that looks like sleepovers, fresh girl-next-door tits pressed against her palm, videos she can ship to the cluster of neighborhood wives. Elektra has the innocent look they like, but Jaclyn needs her wet. "You do more than the quick sit," Jaclyn says, stroking a thumb over the younger girl's cheek, "I get you on repeat bookings, every other mother from Culver to Brentwood lining up." She nudges Elektra to her knees on the playroom rug, spreads her thighs, and places two fingers inside herself, already slick, then guides the sitter's tongue where it counts. Elektra licks tentative at first, then deeper, chin wet, hands on Jaclyn's hips to hold on. Jaclyn talks her through it low and steady—hold there, swirl now, breathe through your nose—so the camera in the corner picks up every sloppy sound. When Elektra comes up for air, Jaclyn palms a palmful of spit and cunt-slick and smooths it over the girl's face like makeup. "Keep acting this sweet and you get triple the cash and a different house every Friday. Moan a little. Let them hear how good mommy tastes." Elektra moans, eyes glassy, tongue back between Jaclyn's folds, chasing that A-list babysitter black-book status the quick way.