I was asked to do an all-night sitting job for Mrs Baddenson. She had been invited to a hen's night, with one of her friends having a wedding coming up fairly soon. She wasn't sure what time she'd be home or what condition she'd be in, so decided to have me stay the night, just in case. Michael, her husband, was away, having business interstate and wouldn't be home for a few days.
Mind you, I wouldn't have minded if Michael had been home because he was safe. If you're eighteen and a babysitter you learn pretty quickly which husbands can be trusted and which ones can't. There are a couple of families where I would never agree to sitting overnight, husband away or not. We babysitters tend to let each other know when a family member is iffy.
As the hen's night was starting late I was able to come late and the kids had been fed, bathed and tucked in by the time I arrived. I checked in with them so that they knew I was there and then I settled down to watch TV. Mrs Baddenson and her friends shot through and I settled down for a lazy night.
Approaching eleven I decided I'd go to bed myself, even though I wasn't really tired. Just bored. The kids had been as good as gold, not one of them waking up. The stuff on TV was not to my taste, drek, the lot of it.
The guest room had its own en suite, which I loved. I just wish I had one like it at home. I stripped off and had a shower and pulled on the t shirt I use as a nightie. After that I wandered back into the en suite to use the big mirror there while I brushed my hair.
Seeing myself full length in the mirror it was a case of, "Oh my god." I'd been wearing that old t-shirt for several years. It was sort of automatic to use it as a nightie. What I hadn't considered was the fact that my body had been changing significantly over the past two years, what with a late growth spurt and developments in the breast area. (I used to think them too small. Now I considered them borderline overlarge. I guess we're never satisfied with what we've got.)
Right now I was looking at what I'd got and that scruffy old t-shirt seemed to be emphasizing it. I should have ditched it at least a year ago. When I first started using it as a nightie it came halfway down my thighs. Not now. In future I would have to start wearing panties when I wore it, as it barely covered my mons. I giggled and took a deep breath and, as I'd guessed, the t-shirt rode up and I was half naked. I pulled it down at the bottom and got another shock, as it was so thin that pulling it tight strained it across my breasts and you could almost see through it. I could definitely see the darker areas that were my nipples.
Anyway, apart from making a mental note to buy some new nightwear, I shrugged the whole thing off and brushed my hair.
Back in the bedroom and looking at the bed I just wasn't tired. I had noticed a bookshelf in the hallway with a variety of books in it so I decided to grab a cup of coffee and a book and read in bed for a while.
I went out to the kitchen to start the coffee, bouncing along with a spring in my step. I hit the on switch for the kettle and, opening the cupboard holding the mugs, I reached up for one. Mrs Baddenson keeps breakables in the higher cupboards, out of the reach of sticky fingered children.
I was stretching up, that t-shirt riding high, as if I cared, when I found out I cared very much.
"Nice tush," said a very approving and very male voice.
I squealed and spun around, frantically yanking on the t-shirt to cover myself. There was a man leaning against the door and he was now looking pointedly at my breasts. Remembering how much they were revealed when I dragged the t-shirt down I hastily let it go, cursing and dropping my hands in front of my mons as his eyes promptly dropped down. Bastard. Had he no sense of decency?
"M-mr Baddenson. I thought you were supposed to be interstate."
"Mr Baddenson probably is but if you look again you'll see I'm not him. I'm Carl, his brother-in-law. I'm unexpectedly in town and I normally crash here when that happens. Ah, why don't you relax a little? I've already seen what you have and, while appreciating it, you'll notice I haven't jumped you."
Relax? If I moved at all I'd be showing my pussy again. At least, his eyes were now on my face.
"I see you were about to make coffee. Why don't you grab me a mug as well and we can both sit down and have it."
What, reach up and get another mug down, showing off my 'nice tush' for his benefit? He must have guessed what I was thinking because he changed his mind.
"On second thoughts, why don't I get down the mug and make the coffee while you sit down."
That was a much better suggestion. I hastily sat down, happy to have the table hiding my legs. Carl made the coffee and sat down opposite me. We chatted a little while we drank our coffee. I could see he was being deliberately charming to put me at ease and, despite myself, it was working. (And I have to admit, it was quite exciting sitting opposite an attractive man, knowing that he knew I was naked but for my flimsy t shirt.)
Eventually, Carl raised the question of why I was there.
"I assume my sister is out. Will she be back tonight?"
"Yes."
"That's a bad news, good news situation."
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, if my sister is going to be home I can't very well take her bed and you're already in the spare room. That's the bad news as far as I'm concerned. The good news is that you're already in the spare room and I'll have to sleep with you."
What!?
"Oh, no, you won't."
"Stop worrying. . . Ah, what's your name?"
"I'm Kathy and you're not sleeping in my bed."
"As I was saying, stop worrying, Kathy. I'm not going to jump you just because we're in the same bed."
"And I'm supposed to believe that?" I asked. Cynical? Not really.
"You're fretting needlessly. You'll be able to sleep safely, knowing I won't lay a finger on you. You have my word on it. Mind you, you might want to wake up early. I can't guarantee I won't make a pass at you in the morning."
"That's supposed to ease my mind? You won't try to jump me until the morning."
"That's not precisely what I said," Carl said softly, getting up and walking around the table to stand next to me.
He indicated that I should rise. Remembering the length of the t-shirt I was reluctant, but I did so. He was standing so close that he couldn't really see anything.
"Do you intend to keep this old t-shirt in the future?" he asked, sounding genuinely interested.
"Ah, no," I admitted. "It's for the ragbag."
"Good," he said, and calmly ripped it in half. The stupid thing was so old and worn that it might as well have been made of tissue paper. Carl just had to flex his muscles a little and it just came apart.
"The reason you'll be save in your bed tonight is because I intend to take you here and now. You really are a very choice item and it would be a crime not to take you."
When the t-shirt went west I squeaked and tried to cover myself, face blazing. I might have mentioned that I'd found it exciting to be sitting opposite him with just a flimsy t-shirt on. Standing next to him without even that t-shirt was something else. For some reason I felt liquid fire deep inside, burning and exciting.
Carl calmly moved my hands away from where they were covering me. Or trying to. Those overly large breasts, remember. Why I was standing there letting him look me over I'm damned if I know. I mean, when he tugged my hands away from my body I just let him. I wasn't resisting or complaining or anything. I was just standing there, blushing, letting him look.
He dropped my hands and cupped my breasts, just holding them lightly, his thumbs pressing against my nipples. Nipples that had seemed to have come erect without any prompting from me.
"This is not on," I muttered, shaking my head. "This is a very bad idea."
Without saying a word he released my breasts and his hands dropped. I heard his zip going down and I couldn't help but look. He already had an erection and he was tugging it out of his trousers. With some difficulty, I noticed. A little too big, it was getting hung up on his trousers. Then it popped into view and his hands came back up to cup my breasts again.
He pressed lightly against me, easing me back against the table. My hands instinctively went behind me to prop myself up. I glanced down and swallowed nervously. His erection was scant inches from my mound, seeming to be moving gently as though trying to find me by scent. And why, I wondered, were my legs parted the way they were? Surely I should be holding them closed?
I looked at Carl and found he was looking at me, a little smile on his face. When I say he was looking at me, he wasn't checking out my body. He was meeting my eyes, holding my gaze with his own. He continued to watch me and then I felt his cock pressing against me.
I wanted to protest. I wanted to look down and see what was happening. I wanted to resist. What I did was continue to look into his eyes, even as his erection found the spot it wanted and started trespassing.
I couldn't look away. He was taking me without so much as a by your leave, and I was feeling hot and excited. His eyes never left me as he slowly took me and even the slow creep of his cock along my passage wasn't enough to break out gaze.
That's not to say I wasn't aware of his cock pressing into me. It felt huge and was pressing against my softness, causing it to yield, filling me with heat and hardness. I felt his groin rubbing firmly against mine and knew he was right inside me.
His hands closed firmly over my breasts, apparently enjoying the feel of them, squeezing them while his thumbs rubbed my nipples. Then, still holding my gaze, he started to pump me.
I suppose that's the correct term. What it felt like was a slow rocking movement that promptly started fanning the fire burning inside me. I couldn't have resisted if I'd tried, and I didn't try. I just started moving with him, our bodies swaying back and forth, heat slowly spreading out from my groin, burning throughout my body.
Eventually my eyes closed, shutting out Carl's burning stare, letting me concentrate on feeling. Feeling his cock sliding about inside me. Feeling his thumbs teasing my nipples, exciting them. Feeling the heat and excitement being engendered by his slow insistent movement. If I was on a stove I'd be a pot, simmering, as it's slowly brought to the boil.