David Crane - Wide-open babysitter

And that effect was magnified by the fact that he was already horny and already had a hard-on.

When he opened the door and saw the sexy girl, he blinked in amazement.

Some baby-sitter!

He had a fleeting fantasy in which he garbed himself in a diaper and summoned her to sit with him and, as babys will, nursed on her sweet little titties.

"Come in," he said.

She shoved past him. He saw the way her firm young tits thrust out in front and then, as she passed, the way her pneumatic ass thrust out in back. She turned, smiling. He saw a wisp of pubic hair curling out from the vee of her very brief shorts. The crotchband seemed to be dragged right up into her cunt – he could see the indentation of her slit.

His cock was already hard.

Now it bucked wildly.

James was taken by an unholy urge.

Normally, he would never have done a thing like that with such a teen girl, but this was an exceptional case. He was horny, as a bull and she, quite obviously, was a lewd young lady. He had the irresistible urge to, accidentally, show her his big prick.

He moved one thigh slightly out, drawing the front of his robe open.

Trying to speak normally, he croaked, "We're getting dressed, young lady. Belinda, is it?"

"Un-huh."

"My wife will be down in a few minutes with your instructions – please wait downstairs for now."

"Okay," she said.

Sure enough, her eyes had gone down to his crotch.

James let his bathrobe fall open.

His mighty prick was exposed, the head glowing and the vein pounding.

Belinda's eye widened and she caught her breath.

The display satisfied a dark urge in James whom, although not normally an exhibitionist – certainly not a flasher – had felt a strange compulsion to display his wares to the sexy little girl.

As if the robe had opened by accident, he drew it closed again – slowly.

"Sorry," he said.

"That's-that's okay," she stammered. He grinned.

"My wife is dressing," he said. "She isn't dressed yet, if you know what I mean."

"I sure do," said Belinda.

And then, although she knew it wasn't proper to say such a thing to an adult, she simply had to add, "She sure is a lucky woman!"

An understanding flashed between, them.

Amazed, James thought: Why! I could screw her!

And Belinda thought: I wish it was Mr. Jenkins, instead of Tommy, screwing me tonight.

James hesitated. Then he shook his head wistfully and turned away. He went up the stairs. Belinda sat down in the nearest chair.

She cupped a hand over her crotch.

She was listening for the sounds of fucking that she expected to hear from above.

I hope they don't linger over it too long, she thought. I'm dying to get my jeans off and give myself a rub – and then call Tommy – and… and I sure wish Mr. Jenkins would come home without his wife!

James was wondering how he could manage just that – to come home without Amanda.

Belinda lived just down the street, so he would not have the opportunity of driving her home and, anyhow, he did not want to have some sort of awkward, fumbling fuck in the restricting confines of a car. Nor would he take her to a motel. She was too young for that, it would be dangerous, illegal and it would seem utterly depraved, as well. But if he could manage to be alone with her, in the comfort and safety of his own home, it did not seem nearly so sordid. He didn't know if he would fuck her. She was terribly young. But he would play it by ear and see what happened – he would, that is, if he could figure out some way to get her alone.

Well, he would have to think about that later.

At the moment he had a big hard-on that had to be taken care of before his balls burst like balloons.

He went into the bedroom. Amanda was at the dressing table, making up her eyes. She had not, he saw, put on her lipstick yet. Her pretty, sensual mouth was working as she gazed at her reflection, as if she were anticipating the load of hot cockmeat that he had brought for her. He grinned at her in the mirror.

She turned, smiling. "I told her to wait downstairs," he said, slipping his bathrobe off. "We'll have to be quite," Amanda said. James shrugged. His prick was still sticking out of his shorts, harder than ever for having been flashed at the babysitter. "I suppose she knows that we fuck," he said, grinning. "Otherwise, we wouldn't need a baby-sitter, would we?"

"But we aren't going to fuck, darling," she said.

Her eyes moved to his prick. The fat slab gave a swollen lurch.

"I hope she didn't notice that," Amanda said.

James did not reply. He couldn't very well tell his wife how absolutely the girl had noticed it when he opened his robe and put it on display – nor what pleasure she seemed to take in the sight.

He stepped closer.

"Like this? Or on the bed?" Amanda asked.

She liked to blow him. She liked to suck on his big rock-hard peckerhead and pull the jism from him and she liked to swallow the lovely stuff. Usually he lay down on the bed and she hovered over him, her head bobbing up and down steadily. But sometimes he would stand up and she would kneel in front of him, like a slave or a cheap whore in a doorway. She had never sucked his cock at her vanity table, however, and the idea appealed to her. She would be able to watch herself in the mirror while she did it. That, she knew, would be very satisfying, very erotic, very exciting.

"This is nice," James said.

He pushed his hips forwards, his trim ass tightening, pushing his prick out towards her face. Amanda kissed the tip, then drew her head back and gazed at it, to see how the touch of her lips had made it throb. Her husband really did have a masterpiece of a cock, she thought happily. It was not the only prick that she admired, but it was the finest. She had been unfaithful half a dozen times in the five years of their marriage and none of her lovers had had a cock as big as James'. He had had at least two affairs that she knew about, but she was willing to bet that neither of his girl friends could suck a cock the way that she did.

Cocksucking required no particular talent and no special physical attributes, she thought – the most important aspect of being a good cocksucker was enthusiasm.

Amanda had plenty of that.

She slipped her hand inside his gaping fly and hauled his bloated balls out, wanting all of his sex tackle in sight. She cupped her hand, palm up, under, his balls.

She kissed his cockhead again.

He was so hot that her face was glowing in the radiant warmth of his prick.

She looked sideways into the mirror, seeing her excited face and his cock reflected there, exciting herself by the vision. Her mouth was watering for cockmeat by this time. Her tongue slipped back and forth across her lower lip. She thought: God, but I'm a sexy woman – what man wouldn't want to put his prick into my lovely face?

James thrust his hips out impatiently, urging her to get on with it.

He was really getting a desperate urge to get his rocks off, he needed to come so badly that it was painful.

But Amanda never rushed a blow job. She liked to linger over the preliminaries, running through the spectrum of pleasures. She bobbed her head forward, bypassing his cock, which ran along her cheek like a hot branding iron. She kissed his balls. Her tongue pressed out, lapping and laying at the hairy, cum-filled bag, curling all around the bloated balls, under them and over them. Ballmeat made a savory appetizer, she thought – it made her hungry for the meat course and that, in turn, would make her ravenous for the creamy dessert of his climax. Her nimble tongue slathered his balls with saliva and her taste buds tinged with the flavor.

She held his cock in one hand, rubbing his knob against her cheek and down to her throat, cradling it against her face lovingly and glancing in the mirror as she did so. James, too, was watching in the mirror. It was strange, he thought, but it seemed more erotic to watch their reflections than to simply look down and see the real thing.