On or Off

I'd agreed to baby-sit for Mrs Collins this weekend. I'd actually decided to stop doing baby-sitting now that I had turned eighteen and had a full time job, but Mrs Collins was an old favourite of mine. She had parties she had to go to on both Saturday and Sunday so I'd agreed to sit one more time, not really having anything planned for either night.

Saturday had been a bit warm, if you consider forty plus Celsius to be warm. Personally, I considered it to be bloody hot. Mrs Collins had asked me to front up early so it was still the afternoon when my dad dropped me off and the heat was just yuck.

When I got there Mrs Collins told me that the kids were out in the pool and that she was joining them for a while. Had I thought to bring my bathing costume? Stupid me had not. I knew there was a pool and still hadn't thought of bathers. No problems, I was told.

"You've, um, padded out somewhat over the past year," was Mrs Collins polite way of saying I now had a respectable bust. "You should have no problems with one of my bikinis."

She quickly dug up a very nice red and white bikini and tossed it to me before rushing out to yell at the kids. I went into the back room and quickly stripped of and put on the bikini.

When I say I put on the bikini I have to confess that it was a case of I nearly put on the bikini. I'd put on the top with no problems, well only minor ones. I had to adjust the straps a little as it appeared I now had more up there than Mrs Collins. I was then just stepping into the bottom half of the bikini when I ran into a slightly larger problem.

Mr Collins was the problem. He just came wandering into the room, whistling. We were both somewhat taken aback. Him, to find himself facing a half-naked young woman, and me, to find myself standing half naked in front of a man.

I squealed and automatically tried to cover my more personal area and only succeeded in tripping myself and falling flat on my back on the spare bed.

Mr Collins was all smiles. Smiles, hell. He was almost rolling around the floor laughing, but politely trying to hide it. He casually strolls over to where I'm lying, exposing myself for the whole world to see, blushing fiercely.

"Are you putting these on or taking them off?" he asks me, indicating the bikini bottom.

"On," I said with what sound like a faint croak.

With that he gave me a wink and pulled the bikini bottom up into place, leaving me properly covered and still blushing.

I hurried out to the pool and joined Mrs Collins and the kids, away from that smiling fiend. He may have been polite and pulled my bathers up but it would have been more polite to have turned around and left. He did it deliberately to mortify me. And he'd taken a good look, too, and he hadn't cared that I knew he'd been looking.

The rest of the afternoon passed and by the time they were ready to leave I was able to look at Mr Collins without blushing. At least, without blushing until they were walking out the door and he turned, wriggled his eyebrows and gave me a wink.

After that the rest of the time passed relatively smoothly. The kids stayed up a little later than usual because of the heat, but when they did go down they went down hard, snoring their little heads off. I relaxed and watched TV and read some magazines.

When Mr and Mrs Collins got home I was surprised to find that Mrs Collins had her arm in a sling.

"I had a fall," she told me insouciantly. "I've strained my wrist and can't use it for a while. Don't worry. George will drive you home."

So, after checking out my goodies earlier that evening, Mr Collins was going to drive me home. How wonderful.

We got in the car and were off. Mr Collins was all polite attentiveness, just chatting about nothing in particular and not mentioning that little debacle. He quite effectively set me at ease.

When we got to my place he pulled into the drive. The house was fully dark, my parents in bed long ago by my guess. I was surprised when Mr Collins got out of the car. I was even more surprised when he met me as I was coming around the front of the car and casually pushed me back against it.

He lifted my dress, for god's sake, pushing it up around my waist. I was thinking rape. He's going to rape me. I don't want to be raped. I'll scream. Someone should hear.

His hands were at my panties and I could feel his fingers curled around the waistband. Before I could do or say anything, he spoke.

"Do these stay on or come off?" he asked quietly, reminiscent of the way he asked if I wanted the bikini on or off.

I'm like, what?

He just stood there, politely waiting for me to answer.

On, of course. What does he expect me to say? I'll say on and that will be the end of the matter. He's not going to actually rape me. Say on and there are no problems.

If I said off he'd think that I wanted him to. . . That is, he'd think I was agreeing to him, um, you know. . . I mean, I just couldn't.

"O-off?" I said (in a very small voice) and I was then appalled at what I'd said. I wanted to shout on, very quickly, but my mouth wouldn't open.

Then it was a case of oh, my, god, he's pulling down my panties. Not just down, but right off, dropping them on the car next to me. I turn my head and I can see my panties lying there. Turn it back and I can see my legs and my mons and even that little landing strip I'd shaved so cutely.

I could also see his hand come down and cover my mons and that landing strip. He was rubbing me there, and I could feel my nerves curling up inside me in shock. I was breathing hard, and I'm sure something was wrong because I felt cold.

I didn't feel cold for long. There was a little fire igniting inside me, warming me up. All those curled up nerves seemed to unroll again, stretching like little cats in front of a fire. The one thing that didn't really change was the fact that I was breathing hard.

Mr Collins undid his trousers and brought out his erection and I started to panic all over again. I mean, would you look at the size of that thing. My boyfriend didn't have anything like that in his pants. No man should.

I opened my mouth to protest, to say that on second thoughts I'd decided no way known, and you have to be bloody joking, and don't you dare touch me with that thing. Before I could delicately express the view that just maybe we should refrain from this activity he put a finger on my lips, effectively shutting me up.

Or maybe it was the shock of having him press that erection against my slit that shut me up. Who knows? What I do know is that his erection was pressing firmly against me, and my lips were yielding, letting him in.

Oh my god, I wanted him to stop. No, I didn't. I just didn't want him to be quite that excited. Why the hell did I say off? I must be mad. I couldn't tear my eyes away. He was pressing into me. I could feel him inside me, easing his way along my passage. Thank god he was moving slowly. He'd have killed me if he'd just come barging in hard and fast. How the fuck was I supposed to take all of that inside me. Maybe it wasn't as big as I thought. Oh, hell. Maybe it was bigger than I thought.

I wanted to scream and I wanted to laugh. I wasn't a virgin but this was certainly a first for me. I never did fathers of the kids I sat for, and now look at me. Outside my own house, bent over a car. What the hell was I doing?

Getting well and truly fucked, was the answer. He was still sinking into me and I could feel him deep inside me. I was quite sure he was doing a Star Trek – leaving explored space and going where no man had gone before. I couldn't believe that I was handling him so neatly. I just seemed to stretch and stretch. Were we elastic inside? There again, I had seen a small cock extend into a very large erection. I guess men are elastic there, as well.

I was feeling quite stunned when he finally grounded himself against me. I'd taken him. No worries. I could handle anything, I thought, feeling smug. It felt nice and full, pressing against me for such a long way. I was burning with need and eagerness. We had a start. Now let's have some action.

He started off nice and slow, gently pulling out and sliding back in, sending pleasurable ripples through me. I sighed softly, pushing up happily to meet him.

He went on in the same manner, just cruising along, taking his time and pleasuring me. On he went, in no particular hurry, rocking back and forth, carrying me gently down the stream.

"What the fuck are you playing at?" I gritted out.

He seemed startled.

"Excuse me?"

"No, I won't excuse you. You're supposed to be taking advantage of me and ravishing me. Instead of which you're barely cuddling me. I'm not going to break if you put some effort into it, you know?"

He gave a snort of amusement, but he also got the message. He started moving faster and then stepped on the gas even harder. It wasn't long before he was giving me a hefty going over, his cock banging in hard. I was beginning to wonder if I'd miscalculated.

I was rising to meet him as he took me, doing my best to counter every thrust he made. I was moving a damn sight faster than I was used to but it was tremendous. He was no longer worrying about taking the poor innocent babysitter but concentrating on ravishment, taking his victim and letting her worry about what was happening.

Ha! Who was worrying? I was burning with need and excitement, banging him just as hard as he was banging me. The excitement kept on building. I was gasping and panting, groaning with the effort I was putting in, relishing every single bit of it. I was going to climax, I could tell, and that was OK, but not just yet. I wanted this to last a little longer.

It did last, too. We seemed to have reached a plateau where we were coasting along, not quite there but content to be where we were. Not that it would stay that way. He's a man, after all. He was going to have to let go soon or his balls would explode from the pressure. (That's what my boyfriend claims, anyway.)

I could sense when he was ready to go. He gave this funny groaning sound and I just relaxed and let things rip. He climaxed and I climaxed and the whole thing was just wonderful.

He didn't hang around, of course. Men do seem to want to make themselves scarce afterwards. I found myself standing at the front door, key in one hand, panties in the other, watching him drive away.

My god. I just remembered. I'm supposed to sit for them tomorrow. I wondered if Mrs Collins would be right to drive tomorrow night.