Babysitter and an Armchair

You see a lot of different decorating styles when you're a babysitter. Sometimes you make mental notes for your own home. Other times you wonder what on earth the owners could have been thinking of. Did they lose a bet?

The reason I mention this is because I was sitting one night for George and Barbra Dobbs, and there approach to decorating is what they call minimalist. I can think of other words to describe it. Words like frugal, cheap, cheeseparing, thrifty, prudent, parsimonious. I think you get the ideas as to what my opinion was.

Actually, to be honest, I have to admit that their décor wasn't cheap. There just wasn't much of it. Take the lounge room. It had a brilliant plasma TV fastened to the wall, complete with hidden speakers. There were two big fat armchairs, luxuriously comfortable, and a small but elegant coffee table. And that was it. What did they do when they had a visitor? Where did the kids sit when the family watched TV? On the floor, I suppose; not that that would worry your average child.

George and Barbra are a nice couple. They're in their middle twenties and have two toddlers, and were what I consider an easy-sit. The kids were well-behaved, as much as kids ever are, and so were the parents, meaning she didn't cavil over everything I did and he kept his hands to himself. I'd been sitting for them for over a year but would probably stop soon. I've passed eighteen and am more interested in a social life than the few bucks I could get sitting.

When they returned from their outing they had Michael with then. Michael was George's younger brother and of much the same character as George. He wasn't married but I didn't think it would be too long before he settled down. A very solid sort of man, was Michael.

Now this is where the Dobbs' minimalist décor broke down. I was curled up in one comfortable chair watching TV, which left one chair for the three of them. Being polite I naturally stood up. Barbra said she'd get some coffee and the two men sat down, so where did I sit? Not on the floor, that was for certain. I finished up perched on the arm of Michael's chair.

Barbra came back and handed around the coffee and we sat and drank it, discussing the show they'd seen. I'd seen the same show the previous week so I was able to put my bit in but I mainly kept quiet, drinking my coffee and intending to shoot through as soon as it was practical.

I put my and Michael's coffee mugs on the coffee table and I sat back on the arm of his chair. Barbra did the same with her and George's mugs, but she sat back on his lap, rather than the arm of the chair. After a few moments Michael gave a laugh and pulled me down onto his lap, telling me I'd be more comfortable there. I protested, but not too hard, as he was right. A bit of harmless snuggling up to a big man didn't hurt.

Michael's arm was around my waist and I didn't think too much of it. His arm was just lying there, while he did idly rub my tummy a little.

It had been a coolish night and I was wearing a tracksuit. A rather loose tracksuit, at that. I like my tracksuits big and floppy, especially when I know I'll be wrestling little children. During the course of that wrestling my t-shirt had pulled loose from my tracksuit trousers and I hadn't bothered to tuck it back in. Why should I? I wasn't exactly dressed to impress. What this did mean was that when I said Michael was idly rubbing my tummy, I meant my tummy, his hand warm on my skin.

So I could ignore his hand, right? It was just my tummy he was rubbing. We were still idly talking and I didn't even notice his hand until it brushed against the bottom of my breasts. That startled me somewhat. I now found that the lazy circles Michael had been tracing had brought his hand higher to where it now rubbed those softer curves. I hesitated, thinking I should say something, or possibly push his hand a way, but it wasn't as though he was trying to slide his hand under my bra or anything like that. I let it go.

Subsequently I realised that that might have been a mistake. His hand came back and rubbed against my breasts again but this time it lingered, actually moving higher. I was just thinking that he'd stop when he reached my bra when I remembered, I wasn't wearing one. I guess having a hand close over your breast and stroke it is a pretty vivid reminder of one's braless state.

I absolutely know I should have said something at this stage but. . . It would have been a trifle embarrassing, and it wasn't as though he was hurting me or anything. Truth to tell, it felt rather nice the way his hand stroked me. His thumb rolled a nipple around and I felt a little squiggle of excitement at that.

Mind you, if I thought Barbra or George had noticed anything I'd have been all outraged dignity, but the movement of his hand just wasn't noticeable under that loose top. I felt deliciously naughty letting him continue to touch me there, just relaxing slightly and letting it happen.

It was late and I was slightly drowsy and I was just letting everything drift past me. I did wake up slightly when his other hand slipped under my tracksuit. I nearly bounced off his lap in shock and I might have done so anyway if he hadn't been holding me. His second hand didn't come seeking my breasts. Well, it did, and it had felt nice having him cup my breasts like that, but then he'd slipped it down and inside my tracksuit pants. You can understand why I had a bit of a start when his hand started massaging my mound. Under my panties, yet. I mean, really?

I'm sure you can see my dilemma. I'd let him stroke my breasts and now I was going to object? Would I look like a tease? There again, we both now he shouldn't be doing what he was doing. Glancing down I couldn't even notice his hand under my pants. Maybe in future I'd stick to skin-tight jeans. You wouldn't get stray hands inside those.

I meant to tell him to move his hand. Truly, I did. I wouldn't even have to say anything. Just dig my nails into his wrist and he'd have got the message. I actually went as far as to drop my hand onto his arm but then for some reason I didn't do it. I don't know why. It was because he wasn't harming anything, I told myself. What did it matter? It was just a bit of friendly touching. (Very friendly, I have to admit.) So I let it go.

I was breathing a little harder and feeling most strange. Mostly I choked a boy off long before he reached this stage. Mostly, hell, I always choked them off before they reached this stage. This was virgin territory for me. I almost giggled at the virgin thought.

The talking was dying down and then Barbra got up and left the room. I missed the precise reason why, sort of being just a little preoccupied. Still, with her gone I had a reason to get to my own feet, make my excuses, and run like a rabbit.

I was half afraid that Michael would hold me in place but as soon as I started to push up he released me. My relief came just a moment too soon. As soon as my bottom lifted from his lap his hands were at my waist, pushing my tracksuit pants down, my panties going with them. Then he was pulling me back down onto his lap and that wasn't his trousers I was feeling against my bare skin.

I don't know how or when he'd done it but his trousers were undone and his cock was out, and it was well and truly out. It felt as though I'd sat back down on a baseball bat. A rather hot baseball bat. I could feel the heat of it radiating up into me.

I would have been quite happy if it was just the heat of his cock that had radiated into me but Michael lifted me back up a little. I could feel his cock following me up, dragging against me and pressing up at me. Then Michael was pulling me back down and his cock had nowhere to go but up into me.

I could feel it pushing against my lips, trying to get past them and push into me and there was no way I was permitting that.

"Oh, no," I said. "No way. Back off. You can't do that. I mean it. Michael! Stop! You can't do this."

That was real effective that was. His cock just kept pressing against my lips and there was nothing I could do to stop them from parting and letting him by. I gave another startled cry when I felt something give and then his cock was moving up and into me. I won't say it was easy going for him because my passage was closed and not really expecting this. Yes, I was wet, which probably helped him, but my muscles were holding me closed and he had to earn every inch of entry.

Nothing stopped him. I blame gravity, myself. With him pushing from below and gravity encouraging me to move in a downwards direction I didn't stand a chance. I'd given up on the protesting. It's a bit late to say, "You can't do that," when his cock is already half way up your passage and making headway. I did try saying, "Take it out," but that had as much effect as my initial no, none whatsoever.

When he was fully up me his hands slipped from where he'd been holding my hips and encouraging me to settle down onto him and ran back up my front, capturing my breasts again.

"Just bounce," he told me. "Don't worry. I'll show you how."

I was half petrified with fright over what was happening and half fascinated with this cock inside me. It seemed to me I had nothing to lose with going along with what he told me to do. Panicking and screaming just seemed so, so, not me, if you know what I mean.

I found out that while Michael might call it bouncing it wasn't that at the start. He just seemed to have me sliding slowly up and down on his cock. Did I point out how large that thing was? I can assure you that once it was in me it felt enormous and I felt I was at a kid's playground, sliding up and down the fireman's pole. He'd lift me up, his cock dragging against me and then let me fall, his cock pushing determinedly into me at the same time.

That thing was playing havoc with my senses. The most peculiar sensations were rippling through me with Michael conducting the beat with squeezes on my breast. I was gasping for air and going, "Uh, uh, uh," mainly because I didn't know what else to say and I had to say something.

I was feeling hot, burning hot, and I was just getting hotter. Bouncing on his cock was fanning the flames. Yes, I said bouncing, because by this time that's what I seemed to be doing. I'd no sooner slide down his cock, taking it deep into me, and he'd be withdrawing, ready for another energetic thrust.

I was reduced to clinging to him, hanging on as his cock systematically destroyed me, reducing me to incoherent babbling.

Just when I thought I was going to die he seemed to speed up, and he started bouncing me up and down at double the speed. That was too much for me and I literally died on him, my whole body just catching fire and burning up.

Things seemed to slowly cool down around me and I found myself sitting straddling him, his cock still way up inside me.

I started stuttering, groping for something to say, but he hushed me up.

"Just hold on a second," he said softly. lifting me up off his lap and turning me around to face him. He caught my hands and pulled me towards him and I found myself leaning over him. I was about to ask what the hell he thought he was playing at when I found out. His cock was sliding into me again, big and fat and determined, driving firmly home, his hand on my hips holding me steady while he thrust.

I'm thinking, you can't be serious, when I noticed Michael seemed to have four hands. The two that were holding mine and the two that were holding my hips. That's the point at which I belatedly remembered George. Barbra had left the room. George had remained in his chair, watching as Michael very thoroughly fucked me. Now Michael was watching me with a smile on his face and George was the fucker behind me, driving in with a will.

"What, you, George," I managed to gasp out in my shock and Michael's smile just seemed to get wider.

"Don't worry about it," he said comfortably. "You'll find it's just more of the same, with George helping you bounce."

I have to admit that parts of what was happening were similar to what had just happened. Namely, Michael's hands were on my breasts, playing with them. George's hands were firmly attached to my hips, helping to pull me onto him when he came charging home. Oh, and I have to admit that the cock bit felt very much the same, a huge man muscle crashing into me, demanding a response whether I wanted to give one or not.

Thinking back over it I could probably highlight the differences in style. At the time I was too preoccupied with coping with George tenderising my insides with a meat hammer. Michael had started off fairly slowly, giving me time to adjust, not laying down the law cock-wise until I was responding to his satisfaction. George apparently was working on the assumption that I'd been warmed up and he could go hell-for-leather right from the word go and I'd keep up. It was - annoying - to find out that he was right. I was already all excited and aroused and George took full advantage of this, humping away for all he was worth, having me matching him as he went.

I sort of assumed that George would do what Michael did, stick it in, pump me up, quitting when I reached point x. The rotten man had no such intention. He had the stick it in and pump me up bits down pat but, and it's a big fat BUT, when I was reaching that point where I'd exploded with Michael, George seemed to just hold me there.

He didn't stop what he was doing, thrusting away with what seemed like gay abandon, but somehow or other he was keeping me right on the edge. I found myself twisting about under him, telling him, "Yes, now," and being ignored while he enjoyed his bit of naughty nookie.

He seemed to keep me hovering there for ages before he finally relented, giving me an extra hard push and sending me into a screaming climax. Well, it would have been screaming, but Michael put his hand on my mouth, muffling the scream.

"Let's not wake the kiddies," he murmured.

Before I really knew what was happening my pants were back in place and Michael was sitting on the chair with me on his lap. The big difference was that his hands were politely folded in my lap. The whole scene looked totally innocuous. I was just feeling totally stunned. I couldn't believe what had just happened. I was about to comment, or scream, or something, when Barbra came waltzing back into the room.

So where had Barbra been, I found myself wondering? Did she know what had happened? Had she known it was going to happen? I certainly hadn't. I had no idea if she knew or not. She gave no sign of it, just chatting away as if she'd never stepped out. I turned down the offer of more coffee, Barbra paid me my wages and I departed, feeling totally bemused.

I was left with a host of questions. How did I let that happen? At what point had it got out of control? If I sat for Barbra and George again, would I have to watch out for George, or would I only have to worry if Michael was also there? Michael was unmarried. What would I do if he called me? Some decisions you just can't make in advance. I guess I'd see what happened.