Babysitting for Mr. Grey

I had a sitting job with Mr Grey. I liked sitting for him. He didn't require a sitter often, but when he did he called me. Since I started work full-time I tended to drop sitting opportunities. After all, I had a regular pay-packet and sitting cut into my free time. It paid well for a fifteen year old but at eighteen? Who needs it?

Mr Grey was something else. He was a single father with a little boy. And he was scared of me. I know! Hilarious, isn't it. I mean, he's in his thirties and quite a big man, but he almost cringes when I'm there. Backs away if I get too close, never looking at me if he could help it. Sometimes I tease him just to see how he'll react.

This evening I'd decided that some teasing would be in order, so I addressed appropriately. The top I had on was a challenge to rape, I kid you not. Tight in the wrong places, it totally emphasised my boobs. I only have medium sized breasts, which is quite sufficient in my opinion, but this top seemed to add inches to my bust-line. To top it off, if you can call a bra topping something off, I was wearing a lacy, low-cut, put 'em on display, bra which barely covered my nipples. A big breath at the wrong time and it just might not.

Over the top of all this I wore a very nice jacket, a jacket that made me look sweet and demure and an altogether charming young lady.

Down below I'd started with bikini panties. Not a thong string, but barely one step up. Bare would describe the cheeks of my buttocks if anyone was in a position to see those panties.

On top of that I had a flirty skirt, loose and swirling. If I turned around fast it would flair out and anyone nearby would have a chance to admire my nice panties. Embarrassing, but these things happen.

To prevent the flashing of my panties I wore black tights, these serving to accentuate my modesty. In my full regalia not even a determined prude would have grounds to complain.

It was unfortunate that it was summer and a trifle hot for the way I was dressed. Still, if the heat made me too uncomfortable I guess I could always take off my jacket and the tights. Nor something I'd be comfortable about doing in public, but in a private house? No worries.

I would like to point out that I had no intention of trying to seduce Mr Grey. I mean, please, he's in his thirties, positively middle aged. That didn't mean that I couldn't liven up his life with a little teasing. I have wondered if he was gay but there again, he has the kid, so he must have slept with a woman sometime.

I got a bit of a surprise when I turned up at Mr Grey's house. He opened the door and, instead of his usual nervousness, he gladhanded me into the house, all smiles and cheery good humour. Inside I found what at first glance appeared to be a crowd of men.

On the spot I decided that the weather was cooler than I expected and my jacket and tights were most definitely staying on. It wasn't just all the men there, but the fact that two of them looked very large and tough. And twins? Then I registered what I was seeing.

There was a very large mirror resting against the wall behind the men. The angle I was on had doubled the crowd. There were only three people there. Mr Grey promptly made introductions.

"OK, everyone," he called, "this is my baby-sitter, Angel. Angel, these three louts are Dick, Rough and Moose."

Dick, Rough and Moose? I couldn't have heard those names properly.

"Ah, hi," I said. "I'm Angela, most people call me Ange. I'm sorry, but I didn't quite catch your names."

The Moose spoke up. He was the very large, very tough, looking man. He had a nice baritone.

"The names," he said, pointing to each of them in turn, "are Dereck, Ralph and Maurice, although some heathens do refer to me as Moose."

I must admit I found those names more acceptable. I also found Mr Grey a lot friendlier. He was chatting away with his friends while he scurried around, doing last minute things before departing.

Maurice must have seen the odd glance I gave the giant mirror. After all, who has a giant mirror leaning against the wall? It wasn't even framed.

"I'm a glazier," Maurice said. "I'll be fitting that mirror onto one wall of the bathroom."

Understandable. The only mirror in the bathroom was a tiny little one on the cabinet door. I fully approve of big mirrors in bathrooms. Glazing also accounted for Maurice's muscles. Hard work tossing round sheets of glass that size. Probably even harder work handling them gently. Tossing glass is not the recommended handling method.

I nodded goodbye to the men and trotted off to see Toby. He'd be in bed but he'd also be awake and waiting for me. If I was sitting he liked me to read him a story before he went to sleep.

A little while later the men departed, and not very long after that Toby was asleep. This left me with nothing to do so I went to watch TV. With no men in the house I decided that, yes, it was hot enough to take off my jacket and tights, and a relief it was to do so. It would cool down soon enough so I'd be justified on putting them back on before Mr Grey returned, possibly with company.

Turning on the TV and flopping down on the couch I noticed something jammed between a cushion and the side of the couch. Pulling it out I found a nice fat wallet in my hand. One of the men must have had it fall from his pocket. I tossed it on the coffee table, then decided I'd better ring Mr Grey. Either he or one of his friends might be worried about their lost wallet.

Mr Grey thanked me for the information and said he'd pass it on and that Moose had been a trifle annoyed about its loss. Good deed done, I settled down to watch TV.

Half an hour later the doorbell rang and I naturally enough answered. Maurice was standing there. Mr Grey has security wire on his front door. One of those wire-screens where you can see out, but they can't see in.

I said, "Maurice," in greeting.

"Angela," he acknowledged. "I've come to collect my wallet. Can't party without the money."

I unsnibbed the wire door and pushed it open, turning to walk back into the front room as he caught it and made to enter. He followed me in, talking as he came.

"Your phone call came at just the right time," he was saying. "I'd only just found out it was missing and holy shit!"

The sudden exclamation brought home to me the fact that I'd taken off my jacket and tights and the demure little baby-sitter was dressed in what some people might consider a less than suitable style. I tried to act dumb, giving him a puzzled look for his sudden exclamation, but I was very much afraid that a tinge of red in my cheeks said I knew just what he meant.

He gave me an evil smile while his eyes ran over me.

"You do know that James is gay, don't you?"

I assumed that James was Mr Grey.

"No, I didn't," I said. "And I wouldn't consider it any of my business anyway."

Then I thought, "Toby?" and flicked a glance in the direction of Toby's bedroom. Maurice read my thought.

"Not his kid," he said. "His nephew. He's minding him for a year while his parents are in Africa. They were reluctant to take him there. Trust me, James is gay. Derek is his steady partner."

Which probably meant Maurice and Ralph were partners. What a waste.

Maurice promptly proved to be very good at reading my mind.

"No, Ralph is not my partner. He and I are not gay. We just don't object if some of our friends are. They don't push themselves onto us sexually and we don't try to set them up with girls."

"Geez," he said, giving me a very thorough once over. "Dressed like that you'd have had James climbing the walls to get away from you. He feels very threatened by genuine femininity."

"Oh, really?" I said, trying to sound surprised.

"Or perhaps you already knew that and this is your way of playing a bit of a joke on him," mused Maurice.

"What? I would never. . ." I let my voice trail off, sounding shocked.

Cynical bastard. I'm quite sure he didn't believe me. He gave me a disbelieving smile and his eyes fastened on my bust again. It gave me a kick to have him looking but he didn't need to be quite so blatant about it.

"Do you mind?" I asked a little acidly.

"No. Not at all," Maurice said quickly.

Reaching out he flicked the button at the top of my blouse. Rather, he flicked the uppermost button that was currently done up, which was by no means the top button. The stupid thing was already under stress and when he flicked it, it just popped open, displaying a lot more cleavage.

What was worse was that the loss of restraint caused my breasts to lift slightly, which promptly caused my nipples to slip out of the bra. Could anything be worse?

Yes. My not noticing my breasts had escaped. I glared at Maurice.

"What the hell was that in aid of?" I asked, not deigning to do up the button. I was not going to blush and hastily reduce my cleavage.

He didn't answer. Just stood there, smiling and admiring the cleavage.

"That's right," I said angrily. "Take a good look. What's with men and a little cleavage?"

"I'm looking, I'm looking," he murmured. "I wasn't really looking at your cleavage though. These are much more interesting."

With that he reached out and flicked my nipples, and the treacherous things promptly paid attention to his touch.

I squawked and spun around to try to stuff my recalcitrant globes back under cover. Maurice promptly demonstrated his expertise as a craftsman by flicking open the catch of my bra. So much for turning my back on him.

I spun back to face him, face red and furious, feeling that damned skirt swirl around me. Fortunately, he was too close to me to see below it. When I'm wrong, I'm wrong. The mirror. Remember that big-assed mirror I'd seen earlier? It was behind me. Far enough behind me to afford Maurice an excellent reflection, including a good look at my bottom as the skirt slowly fell back down around it.

"My," he said, laughing at me. "You were dressed to kill, weren't you?"

At the same time his arms went around me and his hands found my bottom, holding me and stroking me at the same time. He'd only been here a few minutes and I was effectively half naked. My breasts were well and truly on display, my bra offering no support or cover now that it was undone, and my blouse gaping wide to show the goodies. And he knew I had a bare bottom (for all practical purposes) and was fondling it.

I pushed hard against him, managing to break free, suspecting it was only because he let me.

"Just what do you think you're playing at," I gasped.

"That depends," he said, "Either you're going to cooperate and I'm seducing you or you're not going to cooperate and I'm ravishing you."

With that he demonstrated how ineffectual my struggles were. He just turned me around and bent me over the end of the couch, holding me in place effortlessly while he removed my panties.

"I don't think I really needed to take these off," he said. "It seems that there's so little material they wouldn't have got in my road even if you were wearing them. Still, it's nice to have a clear playing field, isn't it?"

With that he gave a friendly smack to his playing field which had me giving an outraged squawk. It might have been friendly but he had big hard hands and it stung.

"Look to your right," he instructed me, and I turned my head.

I was nicely framed by the mirror. I could see my legs and bottom, naked all the way up to my waist, where my skirt was bunched.

"If you take off your blouse, you'll be able to see your breasts dangling," came the laughing suggestion.

I told him what he could do with that suggestion.

"Oh course," he said, as though considering the idea carefully, "I could always play paddle me on your bottom while waiting for you to do so."

There were pros and cons to that idea. The main pro was that he'd have to move the hand that was currently attached to my pussy, examining it in great detail. The main con, of course, was that hand coming down on my bottom. Ouch. No thanks. I'd have to give in eventually.

Silently cursing him I took off the blouse, my bra falling down my arms of its own accord. I was also silently cursing myself. I should've worn jeans and a top that was buttoned up to the throat. Now when I looked in the mirror I could see myself, naked, except for a bunched up skirt, breasts dangling and bottom and pussy on offering.

"Watch," Maurice said. He took his hand away from my pussy and gave me another friendly slap on the bottom.

I had to watch it happen. His hand came down and slapped, I squealed with the jolt and my breasts swayed beneath me. It was infuriating. It was also arousing. I could feel the heat in my loins and I just knew it was going to get hotter. The feeling of helplessness was also arousing me. I was being mastered and there was nothing I could do about it.

"Stay like that," I was told, and felt him remove the hand that he'd had pressed against my back. OK. So here was my chance to make a run for it, but run where, exactly? I sighed and stayed where I was, watching him in the mirror.

His trousers came down, followed by his shorts, and his erection was there as though it had just sprung to life. Oh god. I looked at it and shivered. He was going to use that on me. What the hell could I do? Shut up and take it, a little voice whispered.

His hands were back on me, touching, rubbing. His erection pressed against my buttocks when he reached around me and stroked my breasts. His hands wandered. They would be holding my breasts, stroking and squeezing, then they'd go wandering, trailing over my bottom and finding my mound and the gash that lay there, soft and wet and waiting. Fingers would probe, stroke and squeeze, stirring up my arousal. I was breathing hard, waiting and watching.

He stood behind me, brushing the head of his erection up and down along my slit, pressing lightly whenever he reached that point where he would be coming in.

"Well, you're not a virgin," he said thoughtfully, "so you'll probably enjoy it if I drive all the way in right from the start."

"What?" I squealed, indignant. "How dare you presume that I'm not a virgin? How the hell would you know?"

I was quite righteously indignant, too. That was a hell of a presumption. His fingers hadn't probed deep enough to check my hymen. I could be fully intact for all he knew.

"A virgin," he said quite calmly, "would have the screaming Mimi's by now, seeing what she's about to receive. You've just noted it and got even wetter."

"Bastard, bastard, bastard," I thought to myself, disdaining to counter his comment.

That was the last clear thought I had for a few moments. I was watching the mirror, seeing him pressing forward until he was touching me, my lips slightly parted. I couldn't see that my lips were slightly parted. That bit I could feel, as well as feeling that cock pressing between them. Then he pushed. I watched and he just went straight into me at a nice firm pace, his cock just disappearing. I also felt exactly where it was going, giving a loud gasp as I felt myself invaded, my passage surrendering and letting him in.

I admit I wasn't a virgin but I wasn't all that experienced, either. Most of my encounters were more of a fumble in the dark and a quick poke rather than being taken to bed. Not that I was being taken to bed right now, but what was happening was something I was totally not used to.

How many times is a girl going to find herself, effectively naked, in a relative stranger's house, bent over his couch and being taken most energetically from behind by, I might add, a total stranger (So I knew his first name. Big deal.), while viewing the whole thing in a whacking great mirror that was propped up against the wall. I found the whole situation incredibly erotic and arousing. (Note: I wasn't being taken energetically just yet. I threw that in because I just knew that the energetic bit was about to start.)

I wasn't really wrong, but he decided to warm up first. Hands on my hips he pulled back, nice and slow, then pushed firmly home, his groin slapping noisily against mine. He was laughing, damn it. Quietly, but I could actually feel that laughter vibrating through him, via his cock.

I flicked an irate glance at him in the mirror, to find him looking back at me, smiling warmly. He gave a small sharp nod as though telling me to look down a little. I switched back to look at myself in the mirror and felt like swearing. My breasts were still bouncing from that thrust. Even as I watched he pulled back and hit home again, setting them jiggling while he watched.

He kept doing it, damn him, pulling back and making a long hard thrust and then he'd stand there watching while my breasts did their little jig. As for me, I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or tell him to stop stuffing around and get with the program. Breasts aside, every time his cock plunged in it was telling me, "Oh wow, I'm fucking you and you like it. Have some more."

And it was true. My body was responding without any conscious effort from me. He'd come driving home and I would be pushing back to meet him, enjoying the sensation as we came together with a bang, but I still wanted my breasts to stop jiggling.

They finally did. You know that energetically bit I mentioned earlier? He decided it was time to use it. His arms came around me and he took hold of my breasts, crushing them against me. Then he started fucking me. I had assumed that what he had been doing was fucking me, but I was so wrong. That had just been the preliminaries, the foreplay.

I watched helplessly, his cock ravishing me, pounding in and out at a great rate. It was most peculiar seeing my bottom bobbing up and down in enthusiasm, doing its best to keep up with the action. The whole thing, seeing and feeling, was a loop, each of them raising my excitement and encouraging me to do more.

I was gasping, making enthusiastic little grunting sounds as he pounded me, his energy transferring itself to me and raising my excitement. I couldn't believe what my body was going through. Not that I cared. It was happening, and it didn't seem as though it was going to stop, and as far as I was concerned that was all to the good.

It slowly became too much for me. I just closed my eyes and lost myself in the world of feeling, letting the sensations brought about by his cock rasping against my soft flesh swell within me, happy to let them build as they wished.

I barely noticed when there was a change to the way he was taking me. It was a subtle increase in speed which my body was suddenly fighting to answer, having got used to the relentlessly steady driving that had been happening. It turned out I couldn't cope with the change, my whole body just going up in flames. The heat and excitement that had been building up just merged into a sheet of fire that swept back and forth through me, leaving me shuddering and shaking in its wake.

I opened my eyes again. Maurice was already dressed. He patted my bottom.

"I've got to be going," he said. "Ah, when James and Derek get back do try to be dressed as the demure young maiden. You'll shock the socks off them if you're dressed the way you were when I arrived."

I gave him a dark look.

"I don't need any advice on how to dress," I told him.

"OK, by me," Maurice said calmly, "but I'll probably be with them. If you're dressed in your fuck me now costume I probably will. Ever been taken in front of an audience?"

He wouldn't dare. Would he? He must have seen my doubts.

"Just kidding," he said. "James and Derek would probably both bolt at the sight of you, leaving me to handle you. We'd be all by ourselves. Just you, and me, and the mirror. We could try something different. Or several different things. Something for me to think on while I'm gone."

With that he gave my bottom another pat and left. He did seem to like touching my bottom. I'd dress as I damn well pleased. He wouldn't dare jump me if James and Derek were here.