Babysitter Eager

I've been baby-sitting since I was about fifteen and I used to wonder what the hell people saw in each other and why they would let someone of the other sex do that to them. It seemed vaguely disgusting to me. I've grown since then and shortly after I turned eighteen my then boyfriend was able to show me exactly why people did that and why other people let them. It was quite an experience.

I'm still on the unemployed list so I still baby-sit. It's the only way I can gather a few bucks for myself and feel that I've earned them. The money I get from sitting is more mine than the dole or donations from my parents.

I enjoy sitting. I'm a sociable type and I get on well with both kids and parents. Also, being a bit older, I'm starting to see what the wives see in their husbands, although I'm still totally lost what some of the husbands see in their wives. Maybe that's envy speaking. I don't know.

But really, take the McGregors, for instance. Ian's a big, noisy, man of Scottish descent, loud and boisterous and very, very Scottish. Janet is the dead opposite, meek and mild and very quiet. She just seems to fade into the background whenever he's there.

The reason that Ian and Janet McGregor popped into my mind is because I had a sitting appointment with them. I fronted up, getting there just as the kids were being put to bed. I always try to get to an appointment before the kids are asleep so they know I'm around.

So it was a case of kiss the kids hullo and goodnight and see Janet and Ian off. Janet was dressed normally for a night out but Ian, wow. For some reason he was wearing a traditional Scottish kilt. It's amazing what a nice kilt does for a man. Shows his legs for a start. I gave him a little wolf-whistle when he came into the front room dressed like that.

They went their merry way and I watched TV and texted on the phone. It was quite late when they returned. Ian came bouncing in, still full of life, but Janet seemed to just sidle through the door, looking beat. It didn't really surprise me when she headed straight off to bed. Ian, on the other hand, turned on the TV. Apparently there was a game he was going to watch.

I politely coughed to let him know I was still there and when he looked at me I rubbed thumb and fingers together.

"Oh, right. Of course," he said, whipping out his wallet and shovelling out the shekels.

I tucked my pay into the purse and prepared to depart. Still, I had to know the answer to that old question.

"So tell me, Ian, just what does a Scotsman wear under his kilt?"

He stood there, looking at me thoughtfully.

"Depends on the Scotsman," he said finally. "A true Scot wears this."

With that he lifted up his kilt to show that he wore nothing under his kilt. That's not to say there was nothing under his kilt. Indeed there was. Quite a bit of something was there. Not only was there quite a bit there but it was increasing while I looked.

"What's the matter, lass?" he asked. "You're blushing."

"Nothing's the matter," I said airily. "Just wondering if that came in a larger size."

He laughed. No false modesty about Ian. He knew what he had and was quite confident that he had enough.

"You'll find that there's plenty there," he said. "Tell you what. You take off your panties and I'll be happy to give you a demonstration."

I giggled and waved my hand dismissively, thinking that would be the end of the matter. My mistake.

"What? Losing your nerve now that you've seen it? I'm willing if you are. I'm sure a lass like you would have no problems handling a lad like me. Slip them off and let's see."

I wasn't sure if he was serious or not. If I slipped down my panties would he back off? Fine and well if he did, but what if he didn't?"

I was going, "Ummm," and chewing on my cheek, trying to decide if he was bluffing or not and if he wasn't, what I should do. And while I was deciding his cock seemed to keep on growing, his erection well and truly erect.

I must have had a rush of blood to the head because I lifted my skirt and pushed my panties down, stepping delicately out of them. Then, with a smirk on my face, I lifted the front of my skirt to show him what I had.

"Come here," he said quietly and I moved closer, hardly daring to breathe.

His hand reached down and slid over my mons and between my legs, holding me and squeezing me slightly. It seemed only reasonable for me to return the compliment and my hand reached out and took hold of him. Oh, my. He was hard and hot and there seemed to be an awful lot of him. He had a true Scottish caber. I found myself breathing hard, wondering what he'd be like inside me.

It didn't take me long to find out. Ian's hands had hold of my bottom and he quite literally picked me up and pulled me up against him. Then he lowered me. I could feel his cock, first of all brushing between my legs as I descended, then pressing against me, then, with a rush, plunging into me.

I was slightly surprised to find that I was hot and wet and welcoming him. (Only slightly. I'd felt a rush of heat to my groin as soon as he lifted his kilt to show me what he wore.) He just let me sink down onto him, his cock engulfed by my pussy as I came to rest. I lifted my legs and wrapped them around him, my hands clinging tightly to his arms.

He took a couple of strides and I felt those steps as the thump of his foot hitting the floor travelled straight up his leg and bounced me on his cock. With that I felt myself falling. I didn't have time to do more than gasp before my back hit the couch and Ian landed on top of me, his cock inside me just as deep as it could go.

Then he got to work. I don't know what sort of job Ian has but if I was told it was a jackhammer operator I wouldn't have been surprised. He drilled into me hard and fast, bouncing me against the couch at a frenetic pace, while I was gasping and going, "Ah, ah, ah," as I moved my hips in a desperate attempt to keep up with him.

It was wild and it was exciting. It was also immoral, but I didn't give a damn. I was being right royally fucked and I was loving every second of it. I clung to him, grinding my groin up against him, wanting him deeper. I didn't care how hard and fast he was going, I wanted him to go harder and faster. I just plain wanted him, and he was giving me all he had.

He wasn't content to just fuck me. He nearly ripped my blouse off when he pulled it out of my skirt, shoving it and my bra up out of his way while his hands landed greedily upon my breasts. Then it was a case of my breasts being ruthlessly mauled without him slowing down the hip action one iota.

I was still making those desperate little 'ah' sounds but I was also getting lost in a haze of pleasure. My nerves were humming, all strung out and taut, and he was playing the sweetest music on them. I could tell when the end was coming. Everything seemed to kick up a notch and the pleasure he was giving me was almost painful. Then my nerves all went twang and I climaxed in a big way, shaking to pieces under him, unable to make a sound I was so gone.

I tidied up my clothes and Ian was sprawled on the couch with a smug look on his face.

"There's nothing worn beneath the kilt, Lass. It's all in perfect working order."

(I didn't comment at the time but he stole that line. My mother plays Scottish music and that line is straight out of an old Andy Stewart song.)

It was an interesting incident that just goes to show that even a job as simple as baby-sitting has risks and opportunities, and sometimes they're both the same thing. That was the last time I ever sat for Ian and Janet. For some reason Janet has never booked me for a sitting job since then.