The Babysitter 25

I just wanted to drop her off and get home. Our first date had been a disaster. On her personals web page she looked OK, blonde hair, regular features and a good figure. She seemed quite posh so I chose a new Italian restaurant. It had received rave reviews in the paper. But they couldn't handle the rush on the last Saturday before Christmas. The food was less impressive than the prices and the service was so slow that it highlighted Veronica's lack of conversation skills. All she did was talk about herself and whinge about everything and everybody else.

Afterwards I suggested going on to a wine bar hoping alcohol would chill her out. Instead she insisted on going round the late night opening shops dropping heavy hints about what she wanted for Christmas, from me not Santa. Finally we stopped at a travel agents and she started speculating about a winter holiday in the sun; at my expense of course. Apart from the bad manners on a first date a week with Veronica would be about as exciting as cold pizza. I made it clear there was nothing doing.

She wasn't happy and carried on moaning in the car on the way home. Finally I told her to shut up because it was starting to snow and driving conditions were tricky.

When we reached Forest Avenue she told me to stop at number 17 instead of her home, number 42. Only when I asked why did she reveal that she had two kids she had to collect from a friend who was babysitting.

Veronica marched round to the back door, knocked perfunctorily, opened the unlocked door herself and went in leaving me on the doorstep. I heard a pleasant voice call from inside "There you are! How did it go?"

Veronica was standing in profile to me in the archway between the kitchen and living room. She didn't answer but shrugged and pulled a face. I probably should have left at that point but I hesitated thinking that the kids, and her for that matter, would need a lift up the road in the worsening snow.

"I see. Like that was it," the babysitter answered sympathetically. "Come on in. I've just put the kids to bed."

I called out, "Do you need a lift home or can I go?"

I heard the babysitter ask quietly "Is Mike waiting for you? You should have asked him in, Veronica."

She didn't sound like the usual teenager earning pocket money. When she came into the kitchen to investigate she didn't look like one either. She was older than Veronica, around 40 at a guess, shortish and chubby with fair curly hair and blue eyes and wearing a thick, calf length pink dressing gown with the collar turned up against the cold.

"Brrrr," she said as the icy wind caught her exposed ankles. I'm Mary and you must be Mike? Come on in and shut the door."

She seemed genuinely friendly so I replied "All right, just for a minute, thanks."

Mary led the way into the living room which had been drastically rearranged. "I hope the kids haven't been too much bother," said Veronica looking around with an expression that said, "I'm not clearing up this lot."

They have been good as gold," Mary replied with a wry, affectionate smile "They love playing house when they are all together."

Almost before I knew it Veronica had said, "I'll pick them up in the morning. Thanks Mary. See you," and disappeared.

"Great," I thought. "Thanks for nothing!"

"I'd better be off too," I said trying to sound sincere. Actually I wasn't. My curiosity was aroused, the house was a lot warmer and more inviting than a winter night on my own and Mary seemed amiable and quite attractive in her own way.

She picked up my vibes. "I've just made a hot chocolate before I go to bed. Do you want one? Then you can tell me what happened, eh?"

The hot chocolate was welcome and soon appeared, rich and creamy in a pretty china mug with a mince pie as well. I repaid her by helping to straighten the furniture. "It's not every strange man who would do that," she said gratefully.

"It's not every woman who would look after somebody else's kids and be treated like that. Why do you put up with it?" I asked

Mary shrugged. "I'm new here. I haven't got many friends round about and I love kids." She left it at that and invited me to share her cottage style sofa. I told her about the disappointing restaurant and explained tactfully that Veronica and I had nothing in common and I wouldn't be seeing her again.

Mary, thankfully, didn't probe for the gory details. Instead we watched TV and drank our chocolate. There was a late night political talk show on. I find that kind of thing interesting but don't expect others to share my feelings. I offered to change channels but she was happy to watch and discuss it. She wasn't academically educated but showed that she could think outside herself with common sense and compassion. Altogether she was a refreshing contrast to Veronica.

Time flew and I realised, shame faced, that I had been there over an hour. She came to the kitchen to show me out by the back door. We got a shock. The snow had turned into a blizzard. The drive was inches deep and it was drifting up against the fence. Hurriedly we went back to the living room and peeped out of the front window. Sure enough there was already four inches of snow on my car and not even wheel tracks to disturb the pristine blanket coating the steep hill up to the main road. I realised that the chances of driving up that slope tonight, let alone getting back to the village where I live, were remote.

We looked at each other both thinking, "What do we do now?"

Mary decided to go to the cosy kitchen to look for another drink. I followed to help her choose. At my suggestion she reached up to the top shelf of a wall cupboard for a bottle of wine I had noticed. She turned to show it to me and I realised that her dressing gown cord had come unfastened in the process. It hadn't flattered her. Suddenly I was looking not just at a new friend but at a very attractive woman. She blushed but couldn't fix the problem because her hands were full with the wine bottle. I gently took the two sides of the dressing gown in my hands to close it again. At first she let me but when I started to tie a knot in the cord she said in a slightly husky voice, "leave it, Mike."

I did and went back to the living room sofa whilst she found glasses and a corkscrew. When she came in the dressing gown had fallen open again. Despite the blizzard outside there was sweat on her forehead. It was warm in the living room with the radiator on but not that warm. I realised that she was flushed and nervous so I said as reassuringly as possible, "If you are hot, why don't you take your dressing gown off? I won't touch you, promise"

She was all arms and elbows but off it came and I gasped. She had on just a colourful little nightie, all orange and bright pink swirls. Thin straps showed tan lines on her shoulders and freckles at her throat but her skin was clean and clear. There were two little triangles cupping her breasts which were full, almost joined at the top of her cleavage and curved away to the sides leaving a wide, deep, pale vee exposed by a plunging neckline that barely reached the bottom of her breasts. The body of this seduction tool was cut full and the material was opaque but it was tantalisingly short and her thighs were sturdy but firm, bare and slightly apart.

She sat beside me, her legs demurely together and we talked, about all kinds of personal things, swopping stories and sharing secrets. She preferred to talk about me but gradually divulged that she was a widow and Christmas was not a happy time for her. Her husband, who she frankly admitted she was and always would be still in love with, had been killed by a drunk driver on his way home from an office Christmas party. That was two years ago and she was still only just beginning to put the pieces together inside despite the façade she maintained for their children.

Finally we were both yawning but the cottage style sofa and wooden parquet floor were unsuitable for sleeping. It was decision time and she made it.

"I've only got one bedroom, Mike," she said softly leaving the question hanging as she elongated the sound of my name.

I knew her driving force was loneliness. She had confided that there were nights she couldn't sleep and she sometimes had nightmares. "It's OK. Trust me. You're beautiful and I like you too much to do anything you don't want," I reassured her.

Like the rest of the house the bedroom was tasteful in an arts and crafts style, with twin beds covered with patchwork quilts and a white dressing table decorated with murals and covered in woman things. She went to the bathroom and I stripped down to my underpants and hid under the quilt. When she came back I expected her to put the bedside light out before getting into bed. But she just dimmed it. For me this was romantic but she explained that for her it was protection against nightmares. I caught a flash as she swung her legs under the quilt. Just a momentary glimpse between her thighs but it was enough that I was sure she had no panties on.

I tried to sleep and so did she. But every time one of us was nearly in oblivion the other would turn over and the bed would creak. On my part it was desire that made me restless, on hers I wasn't sure.

It must have been around three in the morning when I heard her whisper, "How do you break a promise, Mike?"

"Like this I told her," and stood up in the narrow passage between our beds and slowly peeled off my underpants. My cock showed itself, hard and upright; its intent unmistakable.

Her mouth formed an OOO shape of pleasant surprise and a look of anticipation crossed her face. She turned back the cover and I saw that her nightie was rucked up around her waist. Her thighs were together but I could see the top of the straw coloured muff between them. She sat up and stretched her arms up above her head. I took the cue, sat next to her on the edge of the bed and very slowly and tenderly lifted her nightie up over the two rolls of her belly and then her heavenly breasts, letting my thumbs linger as the nightie went past seeking out her sensitive spots. There were plenty. She was a woman who liked to be appreciated; not only with fingers but also with my tongue as I found out when it travelled slowly back over the same route before coming to rest between her thighs. There it stopped, forking down to the top of her labia but without provoking an opening.

Instead she rolled over onto her belly making space for me to lay full length beside her. She reached her arm out and fondled from my chest downwards, working blind, her face in the pillow perhaps scared to betray the memory of her former husband but needing that intimate contact with manhood. Her fingers were wonderfully sensitive knowing just when to probe and just when to brush and caress.

I think, I hope, I was as gentle with her at least until I found the sweet spot in the hollow of her back just above her firm rounded buttocks. Pressure there drove her crazy and she squirmed on top of me. Our heights were perfectly compatible. She could kiss me comfortably just where my cock tip reached her slit. I stroked its length becoming more and more urgent as her clit emerged into the open. Then with a muffled sob of agony and ecstasy she broke the kiss and moved down on me. I humped up my knees and drove deep inside her feeling her thick creamy cum making rivulets down my cock walls. Once my balls were rubbing against her mound I moved my hands up and pressed down on her back with a circular motion that ground her nipples against my chest. The feeling was incredible but I feared to hurt her and after a minute I lifted her gently and sucked her nipples better. Oh God she needed that, caressing the back of my neck like a baby and spreading her pelvis wider. With more room I was able to give her a cock dance moving my member around in and out, side to side of her drowning pussy until she was writhing not knowing where I would trigger the next orgasm.

Finally I could wait no longer and blasted my load into her deepest recesses.

Satiated she made a pillow of the fateful nightie and we both went to sleep hoping the blizzard would last for days.