Babysitter Asleep

I had a job babysitting for George and Myra Parkinson. They started their family fairly late in life, them both being nearly forty and the two children under five. I always found them a bit of a mismatched couple. George was a lion of a man, big and boisterous, someone who never met a person he didn't like. A very outgoing gentleman. Myra on the other hand was a mouse. Good with her children and very firm with them. George would let them get away with anything, but not Myra. That was another thing I found funny about them, the meek lion versus the stern mouse where the kids were concerned.

You had to watch George when you were there. He thought nothing of giving a sitter a friendly grope. I didn't think much of it either so made sure that any groping he did wasn't of me. My opinion, continuing the animal analogy, was that Myra had to watch him like a hawk to stop the randy ram from playing where he shouldn't. Five will get you ten that she wasn't successful, although I don't think she really minded.

I wound up having to do an over-night job for them. It was one of those nights when you yell 'bring on the climate warming', because it was freezing out there. Considering the temperature, and George's predisposition for a quick grope, I'd brought passion-killer flannelette pyjamas to wear.

George and Myra had gone out, together with Michael, George's brother. The kids and I entertained ourselves and eventually I put them to bed and they finally zonked off, leaving me free for the night. I watched TV for a while and then decided to really relax.

I put on my pyjamas, grabbed a packet of chips, made some hot cocoa, and lit the fire in the front room. George had made up the fire before he left, telling me I could light it if I wanted to. Yes, they had central heating and it was on, but there's something about a fire that goes with chips and hot cocoa and a lazy night in front of the TV. I don't care if some people consider it a rather childish thing to do. I'm eighteen and quite old enough to make up my own mind and my mind was saying, cocoa, chips, fire, TV.

I settled down on a rug in front of the fire, slurping on my cocoa and nibbling on my chips. That was a really nice rug, too. You're bound to have seen sheep-skin rugs, all nice and soft and fluffy. This rug was one of those but it must have come from an awfully large sheep. The rug was enormous. I could actually lie on it instead of having to curl up on it.

I guess it was a combination of the soft rug, the hot cocoa, the warm fire and the boring TV that sent me off to sleep. Not that I knew that I was asleep. Well, you don't do you. Know that you're asleep, I mean. All I knew was that something strange was going on. Basically I was having a hot dream.

Ever had one of those dreams when you know you're dreaming. I was lying on this luxurious bed while a man was touching me. I could feel his hands on my breasts, his lips gently kissing me. I was just lying there, lapping it up. You're allowed to enjoy yourself when you're dreaming. I was twisting gently about under his touch, delicious feelings starting to steal through me, and I was wondering how far he would go. Not that I really knew anything about how far a man can go, what with being a virgin and all, but that didn't stop me wondering and dreaming.

Then I woke up. I could still feel his lips nibbling on my breasts, his hands stroking me, sliding down and getting more daring each time. I sighed, feeling pleasurably content.

Then it dawned on me that I really could feel his lips on my breasts. That was bad enough but what puzzled me was how I could feel his lips on both breasts? My eyes snapped open.

My passion-killer pyjama top was wide open, leaving my breasts fully exposed. Not that I could see them. George's head was obscuring one while he suckled on my nipple. Michael blocked my view of the other as he just dropped little kisses all over the breast he'd claimed. I could feel little shivers from their touches sinking deep into me, heading for a little fire that seemed to have started somewhere around my groin.

Something must have made George realize that I was awake as he lifted his head and winked at me.

"Relax, girl," he said, speaking softly, not at all like his normal loud voice. "You looked so delectable lying there that we just couldn't resist. Don't let it bother you. We're just doing a little bit of harmless petting. Let yourself go for a little while and enjoy it."

I didn't say anything immediately but my mind was going, "but, but, but." On the one hand George and Michael had had the nerve to undo my top and play with my breasts. On the other hand there was the fact that the dream had stirred me up (even if they did cause it) and what they were doing actually felt quite nice. I mean, I found I liked having my breasts stroked and kissed. It felt exciting.

So I very stupidly didn't say anything, just lying there restlessly while they teased my breasts. I was going to say 'stop, enough', but not just yet. I'm sure you've been in the same sort of situation.

The problem, even if I didn't recognize it as a problem, was that George and Michael's hands would go wandering when they were kissing my breasts. They would rub my sides and my tummy, not doing anything too touchy, and their hands always came back to my breasts when their lips moved up to my shoulders or the curve of my neck.

To be honest I didn't even notice when a hand started slipping under the waist-band of my pyjamas. It was an elasticized waist-band and that hand just sort of followed the dip of my hip and slid under it. I mean, he was only extending the light rubbing/stroking he was doing so when I did notice it seemed to me that I'd be being petty if I said anything, so I just let it go.

It was a little after that that I became a lot more aware of what they were doing. Both of them were sliding their hands under, going deeper, and George had the audacity to run his hand over my mons, tangling his fingers in the little tuft of curls I had there.

Enough was enough, and I was about to tell them so, but they backed off of their own accord, once more cupping my breasts and teasing them.

Now that I'd let them get away with that once I'd have looked a little silly complaining when they did it again. That's the way they went, slowly pushing the boundaries, me giving them just a little bit of leeway, and them taking it and a little more.

I hadn't even considered the necessity to keep my legs together. Why would I? It's not as if they'd be touching me down there. By the time I caught on that they were touching me down there it was too late. I was accepting it and the pleasurable feeling that their touches were bringing. I might add I no longer needed the heat from the fire; the fire inside me was heating me up quite nicely.

They double teamed me where my pyjama pants were concerned. George kissed me, one hand rubbing my breast as he did so, and I barely noticed Michael helping my pyjamas to slide down past my bottom, leaving me somewhat exposed.

By the time it occurred to me that I should complain and pull then up Michael was just stroking the soft, sensitive, skin on the inside of my legs. He wasn't going as high as my pudenda, just starting at about mid-thigh and brushing downwards. Naturally my pyjamas moved down further at the same time.

George was back to kissing my breasts, his hand most definitely touching my pudenda, massaging it quite firmly. I was feeling all hot and bothered and didn't know what I wanted. I thought that I wanted them to stop, but I couldn't seem to work up the gumption to say so. It was easier, and much more pleasant, to just lie there and let them touch me. What harm could it do?

It's hard for me to believe that I was so naïve. I mean, what did I think they wanted? Just to worship at the altar of my body in a celibate fashion? When Michael moved to one side and George moved between my legs I wondered what he was up to now. By the time it registered that his trousers were down and his cock was up he was already making his move.

He parted my lips and was pushing his cock into place just as neat as you please, something that he'd done a thousand times before. Not so me. This was a first for me. I gave a startled little cry, followed by a shocked larger cry as he popped my cherry. That stung, but then I was distracted from the fuss I was about to make by the feel of his cock moving inside me.

This was something that I hadn't experienced before but it fit right in with all that touching they'd been doing. He was advancing along my passage and it felt strangely welcome. Instead of screaming and losing my mind I was just watching as his cock sank into me, kind of measuring how far in he was and how much more there was to come.

Then he was right inside me and started bouncing against me. Oh my god but it was something wonderful. It took me a few moments to catch on but then I remembered that I was supposed to bounce as well. After a couple of false starts I found myself moving with him, pushing up to meet him as he sank into me.

I was going, "Yes, yes, yes, oh my god, oh, oh, oh," and saying anything that came into my head. I couldn't believe what was happening to me. The other thing I couldn't believe was my mother saying I shouldn't do this sort of thing. Was she mad? How could I not do it?

He kept boffing away and I couldn't get enough of it. I started adding words like harder and faster to my repertoire, trying to get him to get serious about what he was doing. He just laughed at me and kept going at the same pace.

I'll swear he was deliberately trying to drive me out of my mind. I was burning up with need and he was taking his time. I was almost ready to scream out loud from sheer desperation when he finally got his act together and put in a bit more effort.

I thought I'd be having fun while he gave me a good working over at the faster pace but it didn't work out that way. He'd barely got started and I found it was all just a bit too much. My nervous system went into overload and I climaxed in a big way. I was totally shattered by it, not knowing which way was up and which was down. He was jerking spasmodically against me, probably having his own climax, not that I cared whether he did or not. I was spent.

I was also still quite naïve, notwithstanding what had just happened. Why did I think Michael was there? Just to applaud George for a job well done? George barely had time to move away and Michael was taking his place.

I was like, "Hey, what?" and then Michael was driving in hard. He must have assumed that George had prepared the way for him and he didn't have to make any allowances for my lack of experience. Well, OK, I have to admit that he was probably right, but it was rather rude of him to assume that. Not that it would have made any difference if he had been all polite and gentlemanly and taking his time. The end result would still be me flat on my back and his cock up me just as far as he could put it.

I guess you can say I'm a fast learner. This time I knew what was expected from me and my hips were bouncing right from that first thrust. Once again it was, "Wow, wow, wow," time, with me giving vocal approval of what Michael was doing to me.

It was funny, as in funny peculiar, in that what he was doing was both strange and familiar. The feelings, the excitement, were much the same as when George was in action, but I could tell that it was a different cock. Well, I knew that by the fact that it was Michaels cock this time, but I could actually sense the difference.

Michael had got straight down to doing his best, or I assumed that was what he was doing from the energy he was putting into his performance. All that excitement that I'd lost when I climaxed was coming back fast, and Michael was helping me build on it, rapidly taking me back to the heights from which I'd fallen.

I was damn nearly there and quite willing to climax again when Michael seemed to slow down, just a tad, but enough to hold me at that point, just below a climax. Not that I minded as I was thoroughly enjoying what was happening and didn't mind if it lasted a little longer. If he dragged it on for too long, then I'd let him know.

Do you realise how tiring it is getting screwed? Well, at least I found it so but that may be because I was putting all that energy into making sure I did my part. If I just lay there and took it, it probably wouldn't be nearly so tiring, but probably not as much fun, either. Anyway, I bounced along, and I was pretty much gasping for breath at this stage. If Michael didn't finish soon I was going to collapse.

He did finish off, thankfully, stepping on the gas and charging home for his big finish. That was fine by me as I also was able to have my big finish, climaxing rather spectacularly. I wondered if it would always be like that. I suspected not. I'd just been lucky for my first time.

Afterwards George suggested that it was rather late and that I should be in bed. I quite agreed with him. I was done for. I visited the bathroom to get cleaned up and then hit the bed, almost asleep before I hit the pillow. I remembered hearing the front door bang and guessed that Michael was heading home instead of staying the night. If I had any more dreams that night I don't remember them.

I thought I'd sleep until the children woke me but I didn't. I guess I'd already caught up with some sleep when I fell asleep on that rug. Anyway, it was about six when I woke and I felt really refreshed. I just didn't want to go back to sleep. I sat up, stretching, and heard a gentle approval. Turning my head I saw George was leaning against the door.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. Then I remembered what he'd been doing to me the night before and blushed. How could I have let him do that? And Michael as well. God I felt embarrassed.

"Just making sure to check up on you before the kids wake up and turn the household into bedlam," he said.

"I'm fine," I said quickly. Had he expected to find me weeping and wailing about my lost virginity? What sort of a wuss did he think I was?

"Yes, I was sure you would be," he agreed. "However I have to make very sure."

"What do you mean?" I asked, feeling suspicious.

"Just that. I have to make sure you're really fine and not just saying so. What I intend to do is take off those pyjamas, they're terrible pyjamas, by the way. Designed to be a complete turn off, I'm sure. What was I saying? Oh yes. I intend to take off those pyjamas, carefully check over your body, and then demonstrate what they mean by doggy style."

I blinked while I tried to absorb that.

"Ah, let me see if I've got that right," I said. "You mean that on the strength of what happened last night you think you can strip me, grope me, and fuck me?"

"That's putting it rather crudely," George observed, "and while it covers my intentions it doesn't really cover the reasons for my doing this."

"Oh, really? Ah, what would your reasons be?" I asked him nicely and politely, speaking sweetly and prepared to not believe a word he said.

"I did notice that last night was your first time and no matter how superbly you performed there is always a chance that the next day may find you traumatised by what happened, afraid to trust yourself near a man, scared of having sex in the future. Therefore it behooves me to check you out and make sure you realise that you can enjoy sex with no problems. I can do that with one simple little demonstration."

Behooves him? Who the hell uses a word like behooves? It sounds like something a horse-rider would say. And I performed superbly, did I? That, at least, is nice to know.

"So your cure-all for seducing a virgin is to seduce her again? I suppose if the second seduction traumatises her you'd move on to a third try?"

He laughed.

"Not really. Truth be known I found you so sweet last night I'm just dying to have you again." He moved over and sat on the bed next to me.

"Just tell me when to stop," he said, starting to undo the buttons on my top. "Just don't tell me too soon."

He couldn't be serious, I thought. Last night was one thing. I was taken completely by surprise and half asleep. Maybe fully asleep for letting it happen. Now he was just going to strip me and fuck me and expects me to go along with it?

"You can't be serious," I told him.

He stopped undoing buttons and stood up. No, glancing down I could see he'd already undone all the buttons. How did he do that so fast? Anyway, he stood up and his hand went to his waist. It finally registered on me that he was also in pyjamas. He dropped his trousers.

"There," he said. "Now you can see how serious I am."

Could I ever. Yes, I'd seen his cock last night when he was sticking it into me. I'd just never seen it erect and waving about next to my face. I put up a hand to fend it off and found I was holding it. Holding it, it felt even bigger, and it was hot and hard.

His hands dropped to my breasts and he pushed me back against the pillow while he tossed the bed covers back. Then he grabbed my pyjama bottom and whipped them down, leaving me lying there effectively naked.

"Right now, I want you to roll onto your tummy and get up on your hands and knees. You can play with your little friend another time."

Ye gods, I was still holding his cock. I hadn't even intended to hold it in the first place. I snatched my hand away and found he was rolling me over.

His hand slapped my bottom and he said, "Up," and I found myself lifting my bottom as I brought my knees up under me. Just like that I was on hands and knees, my breasts swing free below me and his hand rubbing my mound. What the hell had happened to my intention to tell him no? Oh god, I could already feel a fire catching inside me.

"I haven't agreed to this," I protested.

"True, but you haven't said no, either. Let's take this a little slower than last night."

Just what did he mean by this? It seemed to me that he was moving a damn sight faster than he had last night. Then I felt his cock pressing against my slit and I knew what this was. I tensed slightly, expecting his to charge in, expecting another flash of pain, possibly. What happened was effectively nothing.

He made the connection between my pussy and his cock. Yes, he was entering me, but only just. His hands came around me and he took hold of my breasts.

"Now just relax and see what happens," he said.

Apart from him rubbing my breasts I didn't think anything was happening. True, his cock was pressing firmly against me, but it wasn't as though he was really sticking it to me. After a few moments I realised my mistake. He was sticking it to me, just very slowly. His cock was just creeping into me, edging in a fraction of an inch at a time.

I swear I was starting to sweat. I wanted to yell at him, tell him if he was going to do it, do it. I was almost biting my tongue to keep my mouth shut. And he still came creeping along. A little slower? This was barely a degree above a dead halt. After a while I gave up. I said something very rude and pushed myself firmly back against him, groaning as I found him nicely buried inside him.

George, damn him, laughed.

Now he once again got into action, thrusting in with some vigour. I was rocking on the spot, moving with him. My memories of the previous night hadn't lied. It was wonderful. I just went into a dreamy state, rocking on the spot while his cock pleasured me.

Maybe it was the speed at which he was moving, maybe it was that there wasn't the long foreplay of the night before, but it seemed to me that the excitement I was feeling was building slower. Not that I was complaining. The longer it took the longer I had to enjoy it.

It seemed to go on and on, and I just went with it, relishing the sensations moving through me. Oddly enough I was silent this time, apart from happy little sighing sounds. I guess that was a benefit for George. When my excitement started to build and I started to get vocal he could tell how I was going.

I was well and truly ready when he suddenly picked up speed and started driving in really hard, and I was literally bouncing along his cock as he went for broke.

Afterwards I had to admit I had no complaints about the climax I'd had. It had been marvellous. I felt absolutely wonderful, full of life. I pranced off to the bathroom for a shower and quickly got dressed, ready for the kids to come charging out of their bedroom.

Instead of the kids charging out a taxi arrived outside. Myra was in the kitchen and I told her that the taxi was there.

"Oh, that's for you, dear," she said smiling. "We did say that we'd run you home, but we're going to be a bit busy, so I arranged for a taxi. Don't worry about paying for it. I've included money for the taxi with your wages."

With that she chased me outside and I was on my way home. I didn't even get to say goodbye to George and the kids. You know, I strongly suspect that George and Myra won't be inviting me back to sit for them again.