"Your apartment is smaller than my house!" Mason declared from his car seat as I carefully navigated his mom's 4Runner out of the parking lot. After I straightened the car into the lane of traffic, I glanced at the rearview as I replied to my friend's five-year-old.
"That's true, Mason. I don't need a lot of space for just me; it's not like I have a crazy Mase-Monster running around!" He laughed at the teasing use of his nickname and looked out the window.
Babysitting isn't so hard, I thought to myself as we turned off the main road into the quiet neighborhood. The playdate at Mason's friends' house held diverse benefits for me as a parenting novice. Sharing childcare duties with Mark, the girls' dad, a more seasoned parent, was obviously a huge plus. But, after making Mark's, um, 'acquaintance' at the pool yesterday, the afternoon promised an array of more colorful perks. As I turned onto their street, a warm jolt kicked through my loins at the thought of what awaited me at our destination.
Luckily, Mason was sufficiently preoccupied by his playdate with Theresa and Michelle that he hadn't asked why we stopped at my apartment on the way to his friends' house. I didn't want to invent an excuse for a five-year-old why the clothes in my babysitting overnight weren't suitable for spending the afternoon with his friends' dad. He had contentedly watched cartoons for twenty minutes while I shut myself in the bedroom to assemble an outfit.
When I'd emerged, he had observed "Oh! Those are tall shoes!" Rather than interrogate me as to why I had changed into towering patent black high heels -- as well as a fitted, grey square-neck tee, and a short red and blue plaid skirt over black stockings -- Mason instead insisted that he also wanted to make his appearance more formal. Thinking fast, I'd outfitted him with a red bowtie off an old stuffed bear, which Mason proudly straightened as we pulled into the driveway of his friends' house.
As I unbuckled the latch on Mason's car seat, I heard the front door of the house open. With an eruption of laughter, the twin girls rushed down the walk to meet us. In chorus, they greeted me "Hiiii Aunt Sarah!" then snatched Mason away from me by his outstretched arms. The girls were decked out in princess dresses, so it seemed fortuitous that Mason was wearing his tie.
Mark ambled casually down the walk, wearing standard weekend dad-fare: polo shirt, khaki shorts, and boat shoes. He dodged the rushing knot of children as they brushed past him on their way to the backyard, then stopped in his tracks before me. His eyes bulged as he gawped at my outfit, letting out a low whistle. I fretted if my outfit was "too much"; if my skirt was too short, or if my gauzy, clingy top betrayed too much of the black lace bra underneath.
"What will my neighbors think I'm up to, seeing me bring a fine-ass white girl dressed like this into my house?" He asked in mock concern, his massive smile dominating the bottom half of his face. My bright crimson lips bent into my own sultry smile.
"What your neighbors don't know..." I replied mischievously. Another moistening lurch bolted inside me as he took my hand and led me up the walk into the house.
Mark ushered me inside and shut the front door. I scanned the adjacent rooms for peeping children's eyes, then lifted the pleated back of my skirt, exposing the lacy elastic tops of my stockings and the frilly lace of my black thong splitting my buttocks. With my sexy secrets revealed, I reached up and pulled Mark's mouth to mine. Our mouths embraced as we stood in the foyer, dancing and tugging at each other's lips in thrilling anticipation. My carefully shaved slit dripped with excited moisture, longing for the inevitable but distant.
He broke away after a long moment, clearing his throat and eagerly pulling me by my arm into the kitchen at the back of the house. Beyond the back windows, the three kids ran in circles around a plastic castle in the yard. Glass French doors hung ajar and led out to a large wooden deck. On the marble kitchen counter, two wide-rimmed margarita glasses were arranged beside a blender full of green mixture, as promised.
"How do you take your margs?" Mark asked as he lifted the pitcher off the blender.
"Full of alcohol!" I replied, beaming. He laughed at my lame joke; the man was willing to make some sacrifices to get laid.
Mark poured two drinks then led me out the doors to a patio table and chairs. He graciously pulled out a seat for me, then took his seat opposite, facing the yard and the playing kids.
We watched their game (seemingly a peaceful oligarchic state whose primary agricultural good was dinosaurs) for a while, chatting pleasantly, not unlike a normal date. College, work, sports, we conversed smoothly through each other's lives. As the children's game reached its first crisis (dinosaurs had escaped!), Mark rose from his chair and tipped the last of his drink into his mouth.
"Well, I don't know about you, but all this parenting has made me thirsty! How about another round?" He grinned as he extended a hand to help me up from my seat. Waving to the three dino-lords in the yard, he ushered me back through the doors and into the empty house.
Mark unscrewed the cap of the Jose and poured an alarming amount of tequila into the blender as he gestured to a row of stools on the opposite side of the counter. He filled the pitcher the rest of the way with green margarita mix then started pulsing the concoction together.
"Can you get more ice?" He shouted over the whirring blades. I stared at him a moment and he repeated, louder, "Ice!?" and nodded his head at the refrigerator. I nodded, grabbing the bowl from the counter and walking around the end of the marble island to the middle of the kitchen.
I reached the fridge and pulled out the bottom freezer drawer, then bent over to grab fistfuls of ice into the bowl. Behind me, the droning of the blender stopped. In an instant, I felt the pleated hem of my skirt rise, exposing the pale globes of my bum, split by the black lace ribbon of my thong.
"What kind of babysitter wears this to a playdate?" Mark commented as his hand brushed leisurely over my snowy buttocks.
"A very bad one." I purred in response, bracing my grip on the edge of the drawer as the anticipated spank landed on my bare butt cheek.
"Very bad indeed." He agreed. Mark's fingers slipped down the curve of my ass into the cleft between my cheeks. He followed the black scalloped path of my thong through my crack, over my taint, to the swamped black lace covering my mound. His fingertips pressed against my eager gash through the soaking mesh of my panties, teasing my snatch with the added friction of the lace.
He steadied me with his other hand on my tailbone, then finessed his fingers around the back of my thong and dipped them between my drenched lips. I groaned, propped over the open freezer drawer as Mark's fingers pumped into my hungry cunt. My eyelids flickered in delight as my handsome host fingerfucked me in his suburban kitchen; my elbows threatened to buckle as the thrill washed through my body.
"You're so wet already!" Mark exclaimed. "I wonder what a bad babysitter's thinking about that's got her so excited..."
I straightened from my stooped lean, wincing reluctantly as his fingers were forced from my slit. "Mmm, let me show you..." I buzzed, handing him the bowl of ice as I shut the freezer. I flattened my hands against his chest, shoving him across the kitchen towards the corner of the counter. Locking my arms around his neck as we crossed the wooden floor, my lips impatiently covered his mouth as I pushed him backwards with my bust and hips.
His butt stopped in the corner of the marble. Carefully placing the bowl on the counter beside the half-finished blender, Mark's freed hands rallied to action. One pawed at my back, caressing my spine and frenziedly grappling at the clasp of my bra through my shirt. With a flinch, the hook and eye separated, relaxing the band and setting the lace cups drifting between my shirt and tits. The other dove beneath the flare of my skirt, finding the elastic top of my stocking, then tracking up the line of my hamstring until he reached the pliable flesh of my ass. My own hand skimmed below the waist of his khakis, squeezing the urgent bulge that extended down the inside of his thigh.
Grinning, I pulled away from our kiss and broke free of his arms' hold. I forced both of his hands to the counter; Mark gripped the stone edge in loath compliance. My palms and fingertips caressed the lump in his shorts as I slowly sank, bending my knees as I lowered. I squatted, balanced upon my shiny black stilettos, as my face reached level with his belt. My fingers unfastened his buckle and fly, and I reached into his shorts. I grinned in delight as I pulled out his imposing erection; as mouthwatering now as when I had first seen it in the locker room the day before. His pants, weighted by his wallet and belt, plummeted to the hardwood with a noisy thud.
Slowing stroking his thick shaft in my hand, I gazed up at Mark from my squat. "Like all bad babysitters, I love sucking black cock." I flicked the tip of my tongue beneath the rim of his head to emphasize my point. "And like I promised, today I'll be more thorough."
Leaning forward, I opened my jaws and took Mark's dick into my mouth. My red lips closed behind his glans, then patiently crawled down his length towards the base. As my mouth consumed his shaft, the black pipe thumped across my tongue and into my throat. With a soft, slobbery cough, his tip struck the back of my throat as my lips reached the foot of his cock.
I held there, gulping around his prick, clogging my maw. My palms braced against his tensed, muscular thighs. As I held, my mouth flooded with drool that soaked his pole and spilled from the corners of my lips. After a long, gagging moment, I yielded and reversed, pulling my lips back to Mark's tip and sucking in reviving breaths around the thick shaft. I brought one of my hands to his dick, ringing and stroking the dark rod in my pale fingers.
