Babysitter Initiated

I was feeling disgruntled. I'd recently turned eighteen and my boyfriend was pushing me to have sex with him. On the other hand my mother was warning me off having sex until I was older. On the third hand I had to admit my hormones were saying go for it. A quandry leading to the aforesaid disgruntlement.

Taking these one at a time I had no problem. I could control my hormones quite easily (I think). My mother's advice I'd take on board but remember the source. She might want me to abstain but she also wanted grandchildren. She couldn't have it both ways.

I was chewing my first problem over - my boyfriend. 'If you love me. You'll enjoy it. What harm is there? We're both adults.' He had a whole raft of arguments and the whole thing was wearing on my nerves. I reversed the 'if you love me' argument saying 'if you love me you'll wait', but it had no effect. He kept on pressing.

He'd been so demanding the last time we went out I was starting to wonder if he'd force the issue. That I certainly didn't want. He seemed to be all for instant gratification, my wishes be damned. I just couldn't trust him.

Just like that I had an epiphany. If I couldn't trust him then he was the wrong man for me. I felt highly relieved reaching that conclusion, an indication that it was the right one. I also decided to break it off via the phone. I suspected he might turn nasty in a face to face break up. Another clue to drop him now.

I subsequently called him and broke the news and he was furious. He tried cajoling me and then he turned nasty. I learnt some new language but I'm not a tight arsed bitch no matter what he said. He was definitely a mistake that was better behind me.

Of course, there's always something else.

"I heard you broke up with Timothy," my mother said as soon as I arrived home.

That was fast. It was only two hours since I gave him his conge.

"Yes. Who told you?"

"That's good. I never liked him. Shifty eyes. You can't trust a man with shifty eyes."

"You never said a word against him," I said surprised.

"If I had you'd have stuck up for him," she said dismissively. "Better for you to find out for yourself that he's not the one for you. Anyway, that means your date tonight is off and so you'll be available to babysit for Mr Anderson."

"Mother, I've given up babysitting?"

"Oh, have you? Well not tonight, you haven't. I've already accepted on your behalf. You're to be at his place at eight."

With that she turned and bustled away, not waiting around for me to argue the point. I was stuck with it.

I reluctantly fronted up at eight and was greeted by a happy and relieved Mr Anderson. The children are in bed, he said. They should stay there, he said. Little angels really, he said. He lied. As soon as his car left a little voice asked, "Has he gone?"

Five year olds have a lot of energy and these two seemed more rumbustious than most. They ran me ragged for another hour before finally succumbing to sleep. I was of the private opinion that Mrs Anderson probably died from exhaustion trying to keep up with them.

I was dead tired and wanted some sleep myself. I knew the couch in the family room converted into a bed. You pulled a lever on the side and then pull out the base and you had a nice spacious bed. I kicked off my shoes and went to sleep.

I had an erotic dream and I was tingling slightly when I woke. I could almost feel hands touching my breasts and not just my breasts. I gave a sigh of remembered pleasure and woke a little more.

I could still feel my lips being gently kissed and I automatically returned the kiss. My hand went to cover the hand I could feel caressing my breasts. Then I screamed and sat up fast as there was a hand there and it was not only caressing my breast but doing it inside my bra. Did you know that sitting up while someone has a handful of boob just presses said boob more firmly against that hand?

I was all what, what, what, and Mr Anderson was quietly laughing at me.

"Relax," he said. "No-one is going to hurt you."

He pressed his hand more firmly against me, causing me to lie back down. I registered that my blouse was undone and from the looseness of my bra that had also come unclipped.

"What are you doing?" I demanded. Silly question, really. He was obviously grabbing a cheap feel.

"Just playing," he said. "Just relax and go with the flow. This doesn't hurt you, now does it?"

He was right about that. It actually felt quite nice. Totally unlike how Timothy would try to grope me. He eased me back down onto my back, his hands continuing to stroke my breasts. I could feel that my nipples were erect and reacting every time his hand brushed over them.

I just let it happen. Why not? It was harmless but exciting. I found myself arching my back slightly, pressing my breasts against his hands. Impatient with the bra I pushed it up away from my breasts, making it easier for Mr Anderson to touch them.

He continued teasing them for a number of minutes. I wasn't complaining and he seemed to be having fun. I didn't notice at first but at some stage he'd lifted my skirt up, tucking it around my waist. What brought it to my attention was him reaching down and sliding a hand inside my panties.

I tried to protest. Honest I did, but the way he touched me down there made me gasp and I lost track of what I was trying to say. He played with me, switching his attentions from my breasts to my mound and back again.

I have to admit I was getting totally aroused and starting to feel a little desperate about the whole situation. Of course, judging it nicely, that's when he called a halt to the proceedings, leaving me feeling slightly bereft.

I was feeling flushed and out of breath. He sat down next to me, hooked his thumbs into my panties, and drew them down. Not just a little bit down but right down, taking them off and tossing them to one side.

When I stared at him, a bit shocked, I found his trousers were down and his erection was up. It hadn't even occurred to me up until then that maybe I should have been feeling him up at the same time as he was touching me. If it had been Timothy he'd have had my hand wrapped around his cock just as fast as you please. At least, as fast as he pleased.

Mr Anderson was moving onto the bed, pushing my legs further apart. I lay there, watching him do it, and it slowly started to trickle into my mind that he was going to fuck me. No ifs or buts, he was going to do it. How naive was I not to have seen it coming? (Virgin, remember?)

I suppose I could have said no but quite frankly it didn't even occur to me. In my mind it was a case of Mr Anderson was going to fuck me - full stop.

He moved my legs a little further apart and moved between them, sort of half lying, half kneeling. He moved my lips apart and I was acutely conscious about what was about to happen, not dreading it but anticipating. Then his cock was moving into me and I was watching, fascinated. There was a bit of a sting and I can remember thinking virgin no more.

He kept sinking deeper into me and I could feel him there. Oh, wow, could I ever feel him. He was forcing his way down my passage, said passage seeming reluctant to accept. That didn't deter him at all. He actually seemed to expect it. I hadn't expected it but as he was ignoring it I did too.

He was finally fully inside me and it felt grand. There had been no real pain, just a slightly uncomfortable feeling as his cock forced its way in, more than made up for by the other feelings it engendered.

He held himself still for a few moments while I wondered what now? I had a fair idea of what now but only in theory. He finally started pulling back and then returned with a rush. I noticed straight away that my passage was no longer reluctant to accept him, clinging slightly as he withdrew but happily yielding as he returned.

And those strange feelings I had when he started were now multiplying and accumulating. I remembered that theory said I should move with him so the next time he thrust into me I lifted my hips, pushing up to meet him. That actually made the experience a lot better.

He paused for a second when I did that before continuing at a slower pace, giving me a chance to keep up with him. I was feeling somewhat dreamy by this stage, almost purring as he moved.

He didn't keep to that slow and measured pace. As soon as he knew I was moving properly with him he started increasing the pace, coaxing me to keep up with him. I was happy to, relishing each and every stroke. I'd never guessed that sex could be so much fun.

I was already aroused before he started. I suppose I was somewhat aroused when I woke up, seeing he'd been playing with me. (Which he shouldn't have been doing but it was a bit late to complain.) That arousal had received a boost when he entered me and even more so with every thrust. I think my body was quivering with anticipation when he gave a harder thrust, and I went up in flames.

I climaxed in rather a noisy fashion. Afterwards he was looking at me with a rather amused expression.

"Satisfactory?" he asked and I scowled. What did he want - applause? I didn't dignify the question with an answer. The question I wanted answered was what do I do now? Nothing I knew covered this situation.

"Wait one," he said, rising to his feet. He came back with a warm wet cloth and carefully wiped me down, drying me off with a towel. Then he picked up my panties and drew them up my legs. Dress brushed back down where it belonged and blouse buttoned and he smiled at me.

"Good as new," he said softly. Then he pulled out his wallet and gave me my babysitting fee. No extra, fortunately for him. I'd have scratched his eyes out if he'd insinuated I could be bought.

After escorting me to the door he kissed me. That most certainly wasn't a goodbye kiss. More like an 'until we meet again' kiss. I wondered if he meant it too.

Driving home I bounced over one of those infernal speed bumps that the local authorities put up. That's when I realised my bra was still undone. I have quite respectable breasts and they were bouncing up and down from the jolt. Damn the man. I'd have to stop and attend to that before I got home. My mother was bound to notice and ask pointed questions.