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It was a hot mucky night the night I had to sit for Andrea Wilson. She, lucky devil, would be sitting in an air conditioned hall playing bingo while I was sweltering at her house with just a fan. She really needs to get air conditioning. Her husband, Ron, was on a business trip and was probably relaxing in an air conditioned hotel bar with a drink in his hand. And I slowly cooked.
I’d put the kids down but they were restless and I didn’t blame them. I wasn’t really surprised when the baby started crying. He was wet and uncomfortable, so I changed him, cooing sweetly to him to calm him down.
The little beast promptly christened me in the middle of the change. You know the routine. Nappy off and squirt goes the little brute, all over me. I put on his new nappy, chucked him in his cot and he just rolled over and went to sleep, his work done.
I wiped down the change table and headed towards the bathroom. I always have a change of clothes when I go sitting, just for occasions like this. A long cool shower and I was feeling heaps better. I finally hopped out and started drying of when there’s this call of, “Chrissy”.
Little Madeline had woken up. Not wanting her to wake the baby I just wrapped the towel around myself and rushed into her bedroom.
“I’m thirsty,” complained Madeline. “Can I have a drink, Crissy, and why are you wearing a towel?”
“I had to change you brother and he squirted me,” I said. “I’ll get you a glass of water.”
“He does that. Mummy says he does it deliberately because the little bastard is male and they always piss on women, and then she got mad at me when I asked Daddy if he pisses on Mummy.”
“Um, yes, well I’ll just get your water.”
I shot through to the kitchen and came back with her drink. Madeline drank in, passed me the glass, smiled and fell asleep, just like that.
I took the glass back to the kitchen, snagging the towel in the bedroom door as I closed it, and finished up walking back to the kitchen with the glass in one hand and dragging the towel behind me in the other.
I dumped the glass in the sink and turned around to head back to the bathroom to get my clothes and Mr Wilson was standing there, looking me over.
And I mean really looking me over. I could practically feel his eyes wandering up and down my body. And what was he doing here anyway?
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be in an air conditioned hotel somewhere, enjoying a nice drink.”
“I wish,” he said. “The trip finished early and I do live here so. . .
Where’s Andrea? No, don’t tell me. Bingo esc şişli night.”
“Bingo!” I said grinning.
Would you believe that for some reason I’d forgotten I was naked? I sure remembered fast enough when Mr Wilson took a couple of steps towards me and grabbed my boobs.
Actually, I’m doing him an injustice when I say that. His hands reached up and touched my breasts alright, but he didn’t grab them. He wasn’t really groping me. Well, I suppose he was in a way, but it was very nicely done.
His fingertips just seemed to graze my breasts, a real featherlike touch. Even when he touched my nipples it was more like a cool breeze blowing on them than a man actually feeling them.
That didn’t mean that I wasn’t aware of his touch. I think I was more aware of that gentle sliding of fingers across my sensitive breasts than I have been when my boyfriend had been holding them firmly and fondling them. I could practically feel my breasts swelling in anticipation of more touches and my nipples were popping right out, reaching for him.
I hurriedly backed up, stepping out of reach, but Mr Wilson just moved with me, and then I couldn’t move back any more because I could feel the kitchen bench behind me. I instinctively put my hands on the bench to brace myself.
Mr Wilson took a step back and I thought he would apologise and let me run to the bathroom, but he just stood there for a moment, looking at me leaning back against the bench, blatantly admiring my figure. Then he stepped towards me again and I was tensing for his hands to touch me when he bent down and sucked on my nipple.
I was trying to find words of protest but all I could come up with was a slightly shocked sounding, “Mr Wilson”.
All he did was switch to my other breast, tasting it. His mouth dragged back and forth across my breasts, dropping little kisses on them, stopping every now and then to suck on my nipples, keeping them nicely erect. And wet. He also liked to blow on them and watch me cringe slightly from the coldness of his breath on wet nipple.
I didn’t really think I was in any danger of being ravished until I felt his hand closing over my mound. My eyes must have popped wide and I know I gasped out another shocked, “Mr Wilson”.
He started off with that terrible feather touch of his. I could only just feel his fingers brushing against me, but I was most terribly aware of it. I could tell at every instant exactly where each of his fingertips were. He ran one finger along my pussy, dipping between my thighs and tracing my slit to the end.
I was shocked to realise I was standing şişli esc with my legs spread and hastened to pull them together. I know I sent the signal from my brain to close them, but somehow they didn’t get the message. They stayed just the way they were, letting Mr Wilson work his magic.
I quickly realised that ravishment could be scratched from my possible fate if, by ravishment, you mean rape. However, if seduction was the name of the game, then ravishment was well and truly back on the board. I could feel heat welling up inside me and that heat must have been causing some heavy internal sweating, because I was wet.
Mr Wilson’s gentle touch was now getting more determined. His fingers were firmly kneading my pussy, massaging, pushing past my lips and sensing the softness of my inner flesh.
His hand drew away for a moment and then it was back. I could feel his fingers spreading my lips, wanting to get past them. I refused to look at what was happening, just staring at Mr Wilson, still not really understanding what I was permitting. And I was permitting it. I hadn’t put up any resistance, just gone with the flow. All I could do was put it down to the hot night and being caught naked.
My eyes opened even wider as I found why Mr Wilson had been easing my lips apart. That was no finger that was pushing past them and into me. A third shocked, “Mr Wilson,” passed my lips, but that was all the resistance I gave.
I wasn’t a virgin. I knew what was happening and I had, I suppose, been waiting for it to happen. What took me by surprise was the way it was happening. You get a young lad, and I have to admit the only boyfriends I’d had had been about my age, and they were not very experienced. As far as they were concerned, once you get going you just stick it in quick, before she changes her mind.
Mr Wilson just sort of eased himself into me. Once he’d opened the door, so to speak, he just strolled in, taking his time. He still totally nailed me with one thrust, but it was a careful placement, gently making sure everything was ready for him as he came, giving me time to get ready to meet him.
I’d never experienced anything like this before. I was aware he had pushed past my lips and then I was just horrifically aware that he was just taking me over, getting bigger and bigger inside me, not obviously pushing in but just seeming to be there. And more and more of him seemed to be there with each passing second. I just seemed to be full of cock.
The only way I knew that he was finally all there was because I could feel his hairy groin pressing against my mons. I like to be clean shaven, şişli bayan escort so when he finally filled me I could feel all his pubes tickling my mons. And I mean tickling. He seemed to move in a subtle way, and I’ll swear he was deliberately making those hairs brush against me, letting me know he was there. Ha! As if I couldn’t tell. I hated to even guess at how big his weapon was.
By this stage I was breathing hard, my breasts were feeling super sensitive and Mr Wilson was starting to educate my pussy in the ways and wiles of a man. His hands were back on my breasts, his touch firmer but just as maddening, sending excitement rippling through me. And his cock started moving.
Very slowly at first, he dragged it back along my passage, my body clinging slightly as if to say don’t go. Then he was back, surging gently forward, a soft but compelling movement. I was pushing to meet him right from the start. I couldn’t have stopped myself if I’d wanted to, but who would want to resist that?
He just went on and on, gently swaying against me, and I happily moved in time to his gentle demands. I couldn’t even guess when his gentle demands became more forceful. They just were, but by then I was conditioned to obey and I went with him, pressing eagerly against him.
Hours seemed to pass while Mr Wilson ravished my body, hours when I was his to command. My world consisted of his cock inside me, pleasuring me, and his hands on my breasts, teasing me. Mainly, I will admit, his cock, as it surged into me and then beat a slow retreat, only to surge forth again as surely as the next wave on the beach.
There was a storm behind those waves. His cock was coming in faster, harder, seeming to be bigger and bigger. He was crashing into me, and I could feel the storm raging inside me. It was clashing with his driving need and ready to sweep down on me and tear me away.
Then I could feel the waves inside me, hot and wet, surging deep within me and my own storm erupted and just blew me away, lost in the turmoil.
When I recovered Mr Wilson was just standing there, my towel in his hand.
“I believe you were on the way to the bathroom,” he said, handing me the towel.
I took it and continued my interrupted journey, although my legs were feeling distinctly wobbly. I had another shower and this time I managed to get dried and dressed without incident.
Mr Wilson was in the front room watching a game. He just casually nodded as I came in. Maybe he makes a habit of seducing the babysitter. It sure didn’t seem to have affected him in any way.
“I must,” he suddenly said, “make a note not to invite the boys around for poker when you’re sitting for us. Too distracting for words, the way you wander around.”
“The baby wet me,” I protested. “I was having a shower and Madeline wanted me.”
“So did I,” he said. “So did I.”
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