Babysitters Three

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Blowjob

It was lunch time and I was sitting in the park with Muriel having a sandwich when Janet came along. Muriel, Janet, and myself (I’m Rochelle, by the way), are three birds of a feather. We were in the same class at school, all leaving at the same time, all working at the local mall (for the time being), and all doing baby-sitting jobs to help stretch our income.

It was pretty plain that Janet was a bit antsy about something, just dying to tell us but not sure how to broach the subject. We let her stew for a while, but I was curious, so I eventually told her to spill the dirt, whatever it was.

“Um, well, you know I had to sit for Ada Jenkinson last night?”

Yes, we knew this. Ada had parent/teacher interviews or something and Mr Jenkinson apparently had an appointment he couldn’t break so Janet had a mid-week babysitting job.

Muriel and I both nodded and looked expectant.

“He fucked me,” hissed Janet, sounding slightly shocked that such a thing could happen.

“Yes, yes,” I said encouragingly. “Tell us more. How did he go about it? What was it like?”

“What, you’re not surprised and shocked?” asked Janet.

“Not really,” I said. “It happens. Details, girl, details.”

“What do you mean it happens? Has something like that ever happened to you? How about you, Muriel?”

“I must humbly admit that it has,” I confessed. “Muriel?”

“Yeah, me too.”

“So you’re not the only one to get screwed by a horny father. You’re avoiding the issues. What was it like?”

“You don’t really expect a blow by blow description, surely?”

“Ooh, you gave him a blow job first? Tell us more.”

“No, I didn’t. I’m saying I’m not telling you anything. It’s not as though you’ve told us about the time you were tagged.”

“Good point. Sort of I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? I’m game. Muriel?”

“As a matter of fact I’d love to tell someone what happened,” Muriel stated, sounding quite determined. “Ah, after you, Rochelle,” she added, not wanting to lead off and finding the two of us clamming up.

I shrugged. I didn’t mind leading the way.

“Have either of you ever had to sit for the Fitzhugh’s?” I asked.

Muriel shook her head but Janet spoke up.

“Isn’t he that big Irishman? Black hair and eyes a really dark blue? Over six foot tall and about as broad?”

“That’s the man,” I agreed. “If you sat for them you can probably remember what Mrs Fitzhugh does as soon as she gets back from wherever they’ve been?”

Janet thought for a moment.

“Is she the one who records her favourite show while they’re out and then rushes to see it as soon as they get back?”

“That’s her. She loves Judge Judy and watches faithfully. Anyway, what happened was this. . .”

I’d had a reasonably easy time of sitting the kids. The three of them took after their father, mischievous, disrespectful, and utterly charming. They’re fun to play with but I wouldn’t want to own them. Come to think of it, the same could be said of their father.

They’d eventually calmed down and drifted off to sleep and I’d settled down to watch TV in the playroom. Mrs Fitzhugh had the main TV set up recording her favourite shows. Heaven forbid that anything happen to interrupt the recording.

When Mr and Mrs Fitzhugh arrived home she said the standard, hi, how are you, did the kids behave, and didn’t listen to a word I said before heading off to watch the first of her shows in bed. She couldn’t go to sleep without watching Judge Judy. (One thing I’m going to have to learn. She records in the lounge room but watches in her bedroom. How the hell do they do that? It would be so convenient, at times.)

I called goodnight after her, which she answered with a wave of her hand, leaving Mr Fitzhugh to pay me and see me out.

“Tell me,” he said, “did you have any problems putting the fire out? Oddly enough, I didn’t see any burn marks on the cat when it wandered past.”

I blushed. I’d known Mrs Fitzhugh wasn’t listening and when she asked if the kids had behaved I’d said, “Certainly, apart from setting fire to the cat.” It turned out that Mr Fitzhugh had been listening.

“They behaved perfectly,” I told him. “Well, perfectly for them,” I added, seeing his disbelieving expression.

He laughed and then Mrs Fitzhugh appeared again.

“Did you say they set fire to the cat?” she asked, sounding puzzled.

“No,” I said quickly. “I said they were fine, don’t worry about that.”

“Oh. Well, goodnight again,” she said and vanished. I heard the TV starting to sound off.

“Goodness me, rumbled by both parents,” teased Mr Fitzhugh, digging out his wallet and shovelling out the shekels.

I blushed again, putting my money in my purse.

“One last thing before you go,” he said, smiling and using all his charm. “Would you be so kind to take off your panties and bend over the end of the couch?”

I looked at him, blinking, and not believing that I’d heard correctly.

“Excuse me?” I said.

Would kaçak iddaa you believe he repeated himself, speaking quite clearly.

“I said would you be so kind to take off your panties and bend over the end of the couch?”

“Are you mad?” I asked, having serious doubts about his sanity. “Why on earth would I do that?”

“You’re not that naïve, surely?” he asked, sounding doubtful.

“Well, really,” I said, blushing. “I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. Besides,” I added, feeling happier, “your wife is just in the other room. She’d catch us.”

“If that’s the only thing stopping you, don’t worry about it. She’ll be glued to the TV until Judge Judy hammers her last gavel.”

“That’s irrelevant,” I protested. “You don’t really think that I’ll just drop my panties on request, do you?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do. If you stop reacting the way you feel you’re supposed to and actually consider the proposition I think you’ll find that you agree.”

I glared at him. How dare he suggest that I’d willing let him have sex with me? How could he even suggest such a thing in the first place? Probably, a little voice whispered to me, because he’s seen how you look at him. Fun to play with but you wouldn’t want to own him, remember.

Talk about stray thoughts returning to bite you. I was now wondering what it would be like to be fucked by him and knowing I had the chance to find out. I was blushing furiously when I lifted my dress and slipped my panties down. If he dared to say anything they’d be back up where they belonged in nothing flat.

He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even looked triumphant, just pleased. He started moving towards me, unbuckling his belt as he came. I backed up, feeling a little nervous. Nervous? Such a meek little word. What I was really feeling was, “Oh shit, of shit, oh, shit, what am I doing?”

I found myself bumping up against the end of the couch, the stuffed arm pressing against my bottom. Mr Fitzhugh was standing right in front of me, his trousers dropping to the floor. He lifted his legs, one by one, brushing the trousers off. His, shall we say, personal attributes, were now well and truly on display, proportionate to the rest of him, and he was a very large man.

The thermostat must have been broken because I could swear the temperature rose quite a few degrees, leaving me feeling all hot and flushed. I was feeling hotter and even more flushed when he lifted the hem of my dress, tucking it into my belt, effectively leaving me naked from the navel down.

Mr Fitzhugh was stroking me, rubbing my mons to start with and then letting his hand slip between my legs, rubbing my pudenda quite firmly. Not just back and forth but also from side to side, parting my lips and letting the edge of his hand slip between them.

He finally dropped his hand and took a step back. I was flushed and breathing hard and I could feel the heat gathering in my groin. I was also wet down there which I considered most fortunate, considering the size of the gift he had for me.

“This won’t do,” he said, looking at me.

“What won’t do?” I wanted to ask, but found the question redundant. He was undoing my belt and pulling my dress up, lifting it over my head. My bra followed immediately after that and I was naked in front of a man with a large erection and a willingness to use it. A married man, at that, and his wife was home.

Having me where he wanted me he started in with more serious intentions. He was cupping my mound in one big hand while a big fat cock moved in for the kill. I was looking down past my breasts, not really surprised to find me nipples were erect, watching his cock slide between my legs. I could feel his fingers moving, drawing my lips apart and guiding his cock into position. Ready, he moved his hand away and his cock was there, pressing into me.

He was just pressing lightly at first but then with more determination, insisting that my passage yield to him. It did, quite happily, stretching and letting him pass without a struggle. I was making little ‘ah’ noises as he sank in deeper, breathing in each time he pushed in, holding my breath and forgetting to breathe out. He gave one last firm push and his groin slapped against me, his cock fully in place, and I gave one last little ‘ah’ and let my breath out with a whoosh. He laughed at me.

He held me pinned like that for a moment, his hands rubbing my breasts, seeming to enjoy the feel of their soft fullness against his hard hands. After a few moments he started to move.

He pulled back out almost all the way and returned with agonising slowness. I was expecting him to come driving back in nice and firmly and what I got was a slow creeping forward, with him moving even slower that his initial entry. Then he did the same thing again and I wanted to scream. I was expecting more. My body was wanting more. All that he was doing was letting my body know what it wasn’t getting. A couple more non-thrusts like that and I was almost whimpering.

He pulled back and illegal bahis returned more forcefully. I found myself pushing hard to meet him as he drove into me, feeling almost blissful in the relief. From that point on things just got better and better. I had pleasure from the way Mr Fitzhugh was playing with my breasts and extreme pleasure from the way he was taking me. Now that he’d stopped mucking around he was driving into me in a nice steady rhythm, his cock plunging into me, almost lifting me off my feet.

I found I was lifted off my feet. He was leaning over me, pinning me to the arm of the couch, while my legs had wrapped themselves around him without any coaxing from me. He was in the dominant position and he was dominating, taking me hard and fast, and I was flexing my legs and humping my hips as I tried my best to keep up with him.

I was right; he was wonderful to play with. He fucked me good and proper, giving me everything he had and I relished every moment of it. I was, all the same, aware that Mrs Fitzhugh was in the house, and this prevented me from giving Mr Fitzhugh the vocal encouragement I really wanted to. I had this vague idea that yelling, “Yes, yes, yes, fuck me harder!” just might bring her away from Judge Judy to see what was going on.

He didn’t really need any verbal exhortation. He just kept pounding away, lifting me higher with every stroke. It was probably fortunate that he had his weight on me, pressing me down against the arm of the couch, as I was flying high, and without him holding me I’d have gone through the roof.

When he finally started to bring things to a conclusion I could feel myself getting set to explode. I rather hastily jammed my hands against my mouth. An ecstatic scream was not required at this point. I orgasmed with a huge climax smashing into me, leaving me shuddering and weak, and feeling oh so smug.

After that it was a case of scrambling into my clothes and going home. I didn’t both with my bra. My breasts were feeling somewhat tender and I didn’t want the bra rubbing against them. Mr Fitzhugh escorted me to the door on somewhat wobbly legs (mine, not his) and saw me into my car.

That’s what happened to me.

– – –

“Wow,” said Muriel. “And his wife never knew?”

“Now that I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe she knew and was just terribly discrete. What I do know is that I’ve never been asked to babysit for them since that night.”

We were silent for a few moments, contemplating my story. I turned to Muriel.

“I do believe it’s your turn,” I said. “How’d you get nailed?”

“Why me? Why not Janet?”

“Because she had her little experience last night and so she comes last. So – time to confess all.”

“Do you know the Smith-Adams?” asked Muriel with a sigh.

“Um, Mr Smith-Adams, the pretentious bigot with a big ego?” I asked.

“With a wife that’s not quite as nice as him?” chimed in Janet.

“That’s them,” Muriel agreed. “Well, it happened this way. . .”

I’d had a fairly busy night chasing after the Smith-Adams’ kids. They seemed to be of the impression that no-one had the right to tell them what to do. I was willing to bet that that particular attitude might take a bit of a beating once they started going to school, but until then I had to soldier on, doing my best without killing them, although that did seem like a viable option at times.

I’d finally got them all to bed and asleep and I just collapsed on the couch waiting for their parents to come home. I wanted my pay and I wanted out of this house.

The Smith-Adams finally arrived home, later than promised, and Mrs Smith Adams grumped around the house looking for something to complain about. I’d sat for them before and I’d made sure that there was nothing she could take exception to. This was self-defence, as she’d tried to dock my pay last time because I hadn’t washed the kids dishes, which wasn’t really part of my duties.

This time, even though she had no complaints, she deliberately shorted me when she counted out my money. I promptly corrected her and she stated that what I got was the amount agreed on. I didn’t call her a liar. I just pulled out my phone showing the message where the hours and amount were specified. She bitched some more but I stood my ground, hinting at the black list where people who didn’t pay their baby-sitters ended up.

She literally called me a little bitch at that point, saying she’d never hire me again, but giving me the rest of my money. I said thank you and that I wouldn’t work for her again for double the money. I had my money safely tucked away so I was quite prepared to hold up my end of the ensuing argument. What I wasn’t prepared for was the way she finished our little spat.

Her husband walked in while we were going at each other and she turned to him.

“George,” she cried, “this horrible girl has been abominably rude to me. There’s no telling what she’s been doing with our poor children. I want you to give her a good beating to show her bahis siteleri how unimportant she is.”

“Now, Mabel, you know I can’t do that,” George said, quite reasonably in my opinion. “We could get into all sorts of trouble for that sort of thing. Why don’t I just fuck her hard instead, and we can say it was consensual if she complains.”

Suddenly, George didn’t sound quite that reasonable, anymore. Fuck me? He had to be kidding. Mabel didn’t think so, she was nodding in agreement. Me? I was heading for the door.

I didn’t make it. That rotten bitch stuck out a foot and tripped me, dropping me to my hands and knees. I was just scrambling to get up when I felt George’s hands taking hold of the waist-band of my yoga-pants. Damned yoga-pants are so stretchy that they’re easy to pull on and, unfortunately, off. George just peeled them off me, hoisting my legs into the air as he did so; resulting in me falling flat on the floor with no pants once they popped off my feet. And I really mean no pants. He’d managed to hook hold of my panties along with the yoga-pants.

I naturally tried to scramble back onto my feet. I was quite prepared to run out the front door stark naked if I had to. Missing pants wouldn’t stop me. I could always pull my t-shirt lower to hide the goodies. I got as far as getting to my hands and knees and then I was stymied. George dropped one hand onto my back to stop me rising any higher. If that wasn’t bad enough the other hand closed over my mound, holding it firmly, so I couldn’t even sink back down to the floor. I was effectively pinned on my hands and knees and things were about to get worse.

“Mabel,” George said, “could you please drop my trousers for me. My hands are rather busy at the moment.”

Twisting my head around I could see Mabel hurrying to do as requested. She was giggling away like a demented hyena, plainly enjoying my predicament, a predicament that was not getting any better. George was massaging my pussy, teasing it and coaxing it to life. I didn’t want to respond but I didn’t seem to have much control over the automatic functions of my body. As far as my vagina was concerned, someone was knocking on the door, and it was getting ready for the visitor.

Then I was squalling and protesting as George lined himself up and started pressing home. It was visitor time. Now the theory is that if the girl says no and you persist, it’s rape. I said, “No, no, no, no, no. I don’t want this. Take that out. Stop it. No, don’t do this.” Just that little burst meant I was being raped a bunch of times. Once for each refusal I gave.

I can assure that my refusals didn’t help at all. I could feel his cock sliding into me, pushing firmly home, and I was wet. That wetness was both a plus and a minus. It meant that I didn’t get hurt when he drove into me but it also meant that he had no problems in the driving. Resigned, I crouched there on hands and knees while he proceeded to make merry.

He banged happily away and I, to my intense annoyance, moved with him, riding along as he bounced his cock off me. The only real thing wrong with the sex was the fact that I didn’t want it. Apart from that little detail he was quite skilled and was giving me a lot of pleasure. That’s when I got my bright idea.

Normally, when I have sex with my boyfriend I’m somewhat restrained, vocally. I didn’t need to be in this particular case. I started yelling my head off. You know what modern units are like. All the neighbours can hear you if you’re over loud. I became over loud and a half.

I screamed, I wailed, I moaned (it’s surprising how loudly you can moan when you want to), and I yelled rape. I was noisy, noisy, noisy. I also bit Mabel when she tried to cover my mouth to muffle the yelling, causing her to add her own screams to the mixture. There was nothing George could do. He was too busy fucking me to control me.

I actually succeeded in getting rid of Mabel. I woke the kids and they started adding their bit to the racket and Mabel had to rush off to calm the poor things down. That left George and me fucking away, quietly but energetically on his part, just as energetically on mine, but not as quietly.

Essentially, I got quite a good fucking, notwithstanding the fact that it was involuntary. I was aroused and way excited, and I was able to shriek to my heart’s content. When George finally reached his end-game I was ready, galloping along with him, urging my climax to the fore. When it came, I didn’t hold back, shrieking my fool head off. It was quite a bit of fun, really.

George pulled out, swearing softly to himself. I grabbed for my pants and started dressing. I was heading for the door before I even had them pulled fully up. I could hear someone pounding on the wall, probably complaining about the noise.

After that I just hopped in my car and drove home, and now you know why the Smith-Adams name has been added to the blacklist.

– – –

“You didn’t think of reporting them?” asked Janet.

“What would be the use? My word against theirs and I didn’t have any bruises or scratches or anything like that. I could prove I had sex but they could claim consensual and it’s two to one. It was easier to just blacklist them.”

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