Babysitter and the Artist

I'm an artist. I work from home, having converted one of the rooms into a studio. I work mainly in glass and crystal, making carvings and doing etching work. The one firm rule in the house that cannot be broken is the no trespassing in the studio rule.

This is not because of artistic temperament or because I like to flex my authority. There are some pretty sound reasons behind the rule. First of all, glass and crystal are sharp, and I do not want the kids playing with sharp objects. The same applies to my tools. Some of those are quite sharp.

On top of that, a completed piece is both expensive and relatively fragile. It is frowned upon if you strangle a small child for dropping and breaking a crystal carving worth several thousand dollars. The authorities don't seem to understand that it's justifiable homicide. So I keep the kids out of the studio.

This is not to say the kids have never been inside the studio. They have, when I'm between projects and standing right there, watching them like a hawk. I've always tried to make these visits as boring as possible, a subtle discouragement from visiting on their own. Trouble is, they're fascinated by the little sculptures I do, and I always have a nice little collection of those.

My ex-wife has custody of the kids. The divorce was amicable. My wife just got tired of my artistic temperament and went looking for someone with a steady job and an even temper. She found him and she's happy and I still get to see the kids on a regular basis.

I made it clear to Carol that I'd always be available to watch the kids. For an hour, a day, a week, whatever. This has now come back to bite me. Carol and her new husband took a week's vacation, leaving the kids with me. That was fine by me and fine by the kids, as I have an excellent relationship with them. It was the last night they'd be staying with me that was the problem.

For that night I had an appointment I couldn't break. Not knowing any baby-sitters myself I took the easy way out. I asked the kids who usually sat them when their mother needed one. Name in hand I looked up all the numbers Carol had supplied me with and there was Amber, hopefully my salvation where a babysitter was concerned.

I put in a call to Amber and she said yes, she was available on the required night. She already knew the kids. All she needed was my address. I supplied that and the time I needed her by and all was sweet.

Amber arrived slightly ahead of the specified time but that was OK. The kids were all over her as soon as she arrived and I had to chase them outside so I could get a chance to talk with her.

I asked her a few questions about herself, wanting to know something about this child who would be looking after my children. She was eighteen (so not really a child), just started going to university, where she was studying for an arts degree.

I said that I assumed that she'd know the standard rules for dealing with the kids and she laughed and nodded. She and the brats knew each other well. They wouldn't play up with her.

I added that there was one extra rule. My studio was off limits and the kids knew it. They might try to cajole her into letting them look over my work. Tell them no, because you're not allowed in there either. Amber nodded, saying she understood.

A little while later I kissed the kids good night, refrained from patting Amber's bottom as I left (tempting though it was), and departed for my appointment.

I arrived home several hours later. I knew, I just knew, from the look on Amber's face that something had gone wrong.

"What's the problem?" I asked before she had a chance to say anything. "Are the kids sick? Have they hurt themselves?"

"No, no, don't worry, they're fine," Amber hastened to say. "It's just that, ah, um. . ."

"They acted up on you?" I asked, surprised. I'd thought they'd have behaved. They're usually good kids.

"No, the kids were fine. Something got broken and it was my fault and I'm terribly sorry."

That last sentence came out in a frantic rush.

Was that all? Who cared as long as everyone was OK? I could always buy more plates or cups or whatever. Injured children were something else.

"Is that all?" I asked. "Why the fretting? Accidents happen. What did you break?"

My casual question was met with a guilty silence. What the hell? Then I twigged.

"You went into the studio and broke something in there?"

"I'm studying art," she said, tears in her eyes. "I just wanted to see the studio."

I was furious but there wasn't much I could do about it. However, I thought I might not engage her as a baby-sitter again.

"I did say that you weren't allowed in there," I said gently.

Amber looked down, studying the floor.

"I know," she muttered. "I'm sorry. I only intended to look. It was just that there was this one piece. It was beautiful and I picked it up. It was a lot heavier than I thought and my hand seemed to slip and. . ."

Her voice trailed off miserably. Me, I was frozen in stark horror. There was only one piece that she'd find too heavy, and I'd only just finished it.

"Just which piece did you accidentally drop?" I asked, trying to stay calm.

"Um, the reindeer," she confessed. "I'll pay you for it. How much was it worth?"

How much for a crystal reindeer in two colours, standing eighteen inches high? I figured the starting price at auction would be in the thousands. It had been a truly magnificent piece. Fortunately it was already insured. I wouldn't be out of pocket all that much, but I'd have higher premiums in future. It was the loss of the artistic value that got me.

"Trust me, Amber, you don't want to know how much it was worth. Don't worry about trying to pay for it. It was insured and the insurance company will have to cough up."

"But I feel so guilty," she said in a half wail. "It was beautiful and I've ruined it. I just don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," I said, still speaking calmly. "However you had better go on home now. I'm feeling a little disgruntled and if you remain I'm likely to beat you. So scram."

"Well, I'd deserve it," Amber said. "You should beat me. You told me not to go in the studio and I did and now look what's happened. How can you be so calm? I'm surprised you're not screaming your head off at me."

"I'm not calm. I'm angry and controlling it. I'm not going to scream at you with the kids in the house. It might upset them. However, if you really think you deserve a beating then by all means, take off your panties and I'll put you across my knee."

I took some satisfaction out of having made her blush.

"I'm not taking off my panties," she said, blushing fiercely and sounding scandalised. "A spanking with my panties on would be one thing, but I couldn't take them off."

"Well, if you care to bend over I can always take them off for you," I told her. Oddly enough, I think she was prepared to take a spanking for being stupid. Just not on her bare bottom.

She was busy shaking her head.

"I couldn't," she said. "Can't you consider something else?"

"Yes, I can," I said, smiling. "Instead of taking off your panties, you can get completely undressed. That way I can move from the spanking to a complete ravishment without wasting any time."

There are degrees of blushing. Amber's face moved from a slight blush to a full on crimson flush.

"You wouldn't," she gasped. "Get undressed? I couldn't"

"Makes losing your panties seem a minor matter, doesn't it?" I said agreeably.

I sat down on the couch and patted my knee.

"Come on and bend over. I'll take care of the panties if you're too bashful to do it yourself."

She looked at me sitting there, patting my knee, and her face continued to burn. Then, biting her lip, she lifted her dress and took her panties down, much to my surprise. I'd really thought she'd back down.

I decided to tighten the screws a little. See how far I could push her.

"Are you a virgin?" I asked her as she edged towards me, getting ready to reluctantly bend over and reveal her bare tush.

She froze where she was standing.

"Why?" she asked.

"Oh, I just thought you might still be one, you seemed so embarrassed over the thought that you would be ravished after the spanking."

"Well, I'm not, but who wouldn't be embarrassed having a man say they want to ravish you?"

"Quite a few women, I suspect. Anyhow, seeing you've taken your panties off, you might as well take of the rest of your things. I mean, I wouldn't ravish you if you were still a virgin, but as you're not, and I'm going to be paddling your bottom anyway, the ravishment will just flow on naturally. It'll just save time if you're already naked."

Amber was busy shaking her head again.

"I agreed that I deserved a beating, but that's only a spanking. I didn't say anything about having sex."

"Amber, my pet," I said softly. "You'll find that any time a man spanks a woman it's a prelude to him having sex with her. However, if you're too scared about having sex we'll just defer the discussion on that until after the spanking."

"I didn't say I was scared," protested Amber. "It's just that. . ."

Her voice trailed away.

"It's just that I didn't expect you to want that," she said, speaking more firmly.

I had to laugh at that.

"Amber, men always want that. I'm no exception."

Seeing that she was standing within reach, I reached. I lifted the front of her dress, revealing her bare pussy. Very bare. She shaved.

"Seeing this bare before me just makes me want you more."

She gave a little shudder when my hand casually brushed against her mons when I said the word this.

"So are you going to bend over like that and argue about sex afterwards or are you going to get undressed before you bend over? You can still argue about sex after the spanking, even if you are naked."

"I'm sure you'll look marvellous naked," I added. "It may even calm me down somewhat."

She was still edging closer but not getting undressed. Ah, well, no panties was a fine start. I wondered how much arguing she'd do after the spanking.

She was standing next to, her face quite a study. She was feeling guilty and felt she deserved to be punished, but she had no panties on and she'd have to bend over my knee and I'd see everything. On top of that, what if I did force her to have sex? Indecision was boiling through her.

I'd cooled down significantly by this stage. I didn't really see that spanking her would accomplish anything. Sex would be nice, but not if she felt it was rape.

"Listen, kid," I said quietly. "Maybe it would be better if you just put your panties back on and trotted off home. You are, to put it crudely, shit-scared of taking off your clothes, petrified that I'd immediately pounce and rape you. On top of that you're also scared that, even if I spanked you first, I'd probably rape you afterwards. You've had a scare, so we'll call it quits."

What the hell did I say? I told her to put on her panties and go home. What's wrong with that? Amber was suddenly just plain furious.

Just like that she took her dress and pulled it up and over her head, unhooking her bra and tossing that aside as well. She glared at me, naked as a jaybird, assuming that said jaybird was wearing sandals.

"I am not scared," she almost snarled. "I admitted that I deserved the spanking so you might as well give it to me. I don't think you're going to rape me, and even if you did I could handle it."

With that she practically threw herself across my knee, bottom up, too incensed to even realise that she should at least have kept her legs together, not left them spread all over the place.

How the hell am I supposed to stay mad when there's a lovely young thing sprawled across my lap, naked. I was feeling something, all right, but it wasn't anger. Humorous lust would probably describe it best.

Still, if I had to spank, I couldn't wish for a prettier bottom. I lifted my hand and delivered a sharp rap to her cheek, following it up quickly with a spank to her other cheek. Hot hard, mind you. Just forceful enough to sting and let her know that she was being spanked.

For the next few spanks I used a cupped hand, popping her on the bottom, all noise and fury but still only a mild sting. It certainly sounded ferocious and Amber was flinching with every spank. Before she wised up that I was only teasing her, I added some distractions.

My free hand cupped one very nice little breast at the same time as the next spank landed. That one was a bit harder, making her jump and give a little yip, with the jump resulting in her pushing her breast more firmly against my hand.

"Um, your hand," she muttered, twisting a little, which felt very nice against my palm. I could feel her nipple enjoying the movement and starting to bud. So could, she, I think, because she ceased wriggling.

"Don't worry about it," I said casually. "It's just helping you keep your balance."

I emphasised this with another stinging little spank.

My hands are big and strong. All that sculpting, I guess. I also had very long fingers. A pianist would love fingers as long as mine. They provide a terrific a span across a piano. (Not that I can play a piano, but I do have the hands for it.) It's not only a piano that my hands span very nicely.

Properly placed on a young lady's bottom, my middle finger was long enough to curl around and slap against her mound. Not that I was doing this deliberately. Amber could tell that it was her bottom I was spanking, with her mound just being collateral damage. (Collateral incitement, in this case.)

By now Amber's bottom had a pinkish glow and I'm sure she was well acutely conscious of it. How could it be otherwise when it was bare and a man's hands were all over it? Now was the time to start getting careless.

The next couple of strokes over-reached, with my hand lightly stinging her mound. Amber bucked and protested and I, of course, apologised. The apology was accompanied by a thoughtful rub of the offended place, helping to ease away any sting. I told her that when she complained, but she seemed somewhat sceptical.

"Amber, love," I said, all sweet reason. "If I just wanting to touch you all I have to do is this."

I demonstrated by rubbing her mound, a bit more firmly this time.

"Now don't be silly. Um, where were we?"

"I think you were deciding the spanking is over," Amber suggested hopefully.

"Oh, was I," I murmured. "That probably explains why I'm massaging you a little. Therapy to take your mind off the pain."

Some therapy, massaging a young lady's privates to distract her from a stinging bottom. Interesting work when you can get it.

"That's not where it hurts," she muttered, starting to squirm once more.

"Oh."

I ceased rubbing, just letting my hand rest there, my other hand still casually stroking the breast it was cupping.

"Um, if you've finished, can I get up now?" came the tentative question.

"Oh, of course," I said.

My hands tightened on her breast and mound and I lifted her quite easily, turning her and sitting her on my knee. The hand that had rested on her bottom (or fairly close to it) was now hastily moved to rest on her inner thigh, scant inches from where her legs came together.

"Your hand," she hinted. "Could you move it, please?"

Damn right I could. I moved it those scant inches, softly rubbing.

"Not like that," she wailed. "You know I didn't mean that."

"True," I acknowledged, "but now that the spanking is over we're supposed to be discussing whether or not I am going to ravish you. What's your current feeling on the subject?"

I could tell how her body was voting. She was hot and wet. Her mind, unfortunately, was probably a little reluctant.

"You don't really think I'll agree to have sex with you, do you?" she asked, sounding quite huffy.

"At the risk of sounding arrogant and full of myself, I could probably persuade you," I told her. I gave her erect nipple a little tweak to emphasise my point. "However, that's not want I'm asking?"

"It sounds like it to me," she replied. "If you're not asking me to have sex with you what are you asking?"

"How you feel about me grabbing you and ravishing you. In other words, I grab you, throw you to the floor, stand over you, laughing triumphantly, while stripping off my clothes, then flinging myself onto you and brutally ravishing your cringing body."

Poor Amber looked stunned.

"How would you expect me to feel?"

"Mmm. Relieved?"

"Relieved? Why would I feel relieved because you're raping me?"

"Ravishing, not rape. It sounds so much more macho. Rape just sounds nasty. Um, why relieved? Because it clears away the guilt you're feeling at destroying a priceless work of art, and it also means that you won't be feeling guilty about yielding your lovely body to my crude intentions."

Amber gave her head a tiny shake, apparently not able to accept my logic.

"I don't feel guilty about the reindeer," she muttered. "It was an accident and I regret it, but you spanked me for that. And I wouldn't feel guilty if I agreed to have sex. I am most definitely not going to let you ravish me."

Oddly enough, throughout this little discussion I was still gently paying attention to her breasts and stroking her pussy. Keeping the fires stoked, you might say. Also, it was distracting her, keeping her from focusing on her immediate predicament.

She took a deep breath and held it for a moment, trying to clear her head. Unfortunately, it seemed to work.

"You're bluffing," she snapped. "You've no intention of ravishing me, have you?"

"Um, to be strictly truthful, no. That's not to say I don't want you. I do, very much. But force you? No."

"So in other words I could get up and go home right now and you won't try to stop me."

"Correct, but I don't think you want to do that just yet."

"Why not?"

"Because you're still naked," I suggested. "Not that I mind, but you may not want to leave the house that way."

You tell me how a young lady could forget that she was naked. From the blush that spread across her face it was obvious it had. Now she was suddenly acutely aware of her nakedness, her body, my hands and what they were doing. She squirmed on my lap and abruptly became aware of what was pressing against her side. Her blush got deeper.

I am assuming that Amber was trying to stop me poking her in the side when she slipped her hand between my erection and her side. If that was her intent she really should have placed the flat of her hand against her side - not the back of it. She found her hand just naturally curving around my erection, even if it was behind cloth.

"Undo my zip," I said softly and she gave a little start.

"What? I couldn't. If I did that you'd think, ah, you'd think. . ."

"Yes. We both know what I'd think," I murmured.

With that I bent my head and my mouth closed over a nipple, sucking lightly. She gave a gasp and her breathing deepened, but she didn't try to stop me. My lips brushed across her breasts, finding her other nipple, brushing my teeth against it, letting my tongue gently roll it.

While I was doing that I felt her hand close over my erection, tentatively at first, becoming bolder as she drew it free from my trousers. I didn't make any show of triumph. I continued the way I had been going, but now my touches were bolder.

It wasn't long before I was kissing her, and she kissed me back, her mouth hot and wet and eager. I moved around on the couch, moving her from my knee to the couch and then easing her onto her back. My leg was pressed between hers, holding them nicely parted, my hand continuing to works its evil magic upon her.

I had to stand up to take my trousers down. Amber watched me, blushing as I dropped my shorts but not trying to call a halt. Then I was back with her, leaning over her, my erection pressing against her. I continued kissing her while I moved my cock into position, lightly pressing against her.