Memories Of Our Babysitter Ch. 01
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All persons engaged in sexual activity in this story, are over 18 years of age
This story is based on real happenings that took place in the mid 1980’s in the United Kingdom, when the internet was barely an infant and not available to the majority of individuals. As for mobile phones, they were huge, solid, brick-like blocks weighing over two pounds and were owned by only the very wealthy. This meant that knowledge of sex was gleaned mostly by looking at adult magazines aka Playboy, Hustler and so on which were often bought by older brothers or sisters. Certain books like ‘Tropic of Cancer’ that were ‘borrowed’ from someone’s father’s collection also worked a treat. Hearing playground chat amongst more or less ‘informed’ friends, proved popular too.
Finding out officially what ‘sex’ was all about was mainly limited to the teachings of the Biology teacher who, if he/she was confident, would talk you through the reproductive cycle of humans or if not, would tell you how frogs and newts reproduced (not very useful and definitely not very sexy!). Boys and girls were nowhere near as mature or knowledgeable about sex at age 18 compared to many of today’s 14 or 15 year olds, thanks mainly to the multitude of internet ‘information’ that can be accessed by anyone that can type ‘sex’ into a search engine.
All of this is to set the scene for you, to make you aware that in the late 1970s, unlike the present, many boys and girls at age 18 were considerably naïve when it came to actual sexual encounters and in the UK (as is now) anyone over the age of 18 could buy and consume alcohol.
My story starts when, as a married man, with two small children, I was working a wide range of work shifts. My wife, who was a nurse, often had to work less-traditional shift hours that occasionally coincided with mine, so that we were sometimes both at work during the late evening hours. We managed to find a young girl who lived nearby and who would babysit during the times my wife had to work her all-night shift, which would see her working from around 7pm until I got home between 11:30pm and midnight. We paid her an agreed amount, which helped her out with her school expenses, so it was a win-win for everyone involved.
Cassandra was a godsend; she was 17 at the time when she began babysitting for us, studying to go to college. Being from a large family, she welcomed the relative peace and quiet of our home, as our children usually slept from about 8pm through the night, while she babysat and sometimes caught up on her schoolwork.
This arrangement continued for some time and normally on my arriving home, I would check on the children, pay Cassandra, then drive her home, only two minutes away, then return and go to bed myself.
One night, when I arrived home, I went through our usual routine.
“Have the children behaved Cas?” I asked, “is everything ok?”
“Yes, everything’s fine, she replied, “but could I stay and watch the end of this movie I’ve been watching? There’s only about 20 minutes left and I would like to find out who the murderer was in the end?”
I didn’t have any problem with that, so I said, “Of course, no problem,” and leaving her to it, I went quietly upstairs to check on the children. Sure enough, I found them fast asleep as usual.
After a short while, I came back downstairs and sat at the opposite end of the three-seater sofa where she was sitting. She was very absorbed in the detective movie and I guessed she was about to find out ‘who’d done it’.
Having just come home from work, I fancied a small beer, so I got up and asked, “Would you like a drink Cas?”
Surprisingly, she said, “Could I have a lager?”
“Do you think your mom would approve?” I asked, as my wife had told me her mom was fairly strict with her and I thought she would probably not approve of her drinking alcohol.
“Well I know she doesn’t like me to drink, but I turned 18 a few weeks ago and anyway, I have had beer before, just don’t tell her……ok?”
“Well if you’re sure,” I said, and got up to get the drinks.
I went to the kitchen and got a couple of small cans of lager, poured them into glasses and returned to the sitting room, passing one to her. I sat back down on the sofa and watched as the movie progressed, but not knowing what had gone on previously, I wasn’t involved in it.
Cassandra was totally absorbed in her movie, sipping at her drink as she watched. As I drank my lager I took the opportunity to look at her, sitting one seat away from me, staring at the TV. She wasn’t the often imagined tall, blonde, ‘cheerleader type’ you read of in so many stories, with a ‘body to die for’, like some lingerie model in the making. Instead, she was the typical ‘girl next door’ that you literally live next to and never seem to notice.
As I gazed at her, with her (yes blonde) hair, cut short just below her ears in a typical 70s ‘bob’, haramidere escort her figure, not slim, but not fat, ‘teenager on the edge of adult’ sort of look, I caught myself wondering why I had never really noticed her in a more sexual sense. As she was engrossed in the end of her movie, I found myself looking her over more carefully than I had ever done before and liking what I saw.
Cassandra’s hair framed her oval face, no make-up, nice soft dark brown eyes, a bit of a sharp nose that led down to full lips and a delicate chin. As it was summer, she was wearing a light, short-sleeved button-up blouse, buttoned up to the last but one button, so not much to see there. However, I could see the gentle swell of her small breasts under the blouse. The blouse was un-tucked, hiding the waist of her flared blue denim skirt, which, as was the fashion, finished about halfway up her thighs. She was wearing sandals; her bare legs were slim at the ankle, but gradually became thicker and curvier until, with her knees pressed together, they disappeared under the hem of her skirt. I was sure this was what was called ‘baby fat’ and would change shape as she matured, but they looked soft and inviting nevertheless.
Perhaps it was because I hadn’t had the chance to observe her so closely before, but I had never thought of her this way. As I stole further glances at her, I realised that she was quite an attractive young girl.
I finished my drink and noticed she had been sipping continuously while watching the TV and her glass was nearly empty. A few minutes later, I could see that the movie had finished as the credits were now rolling down the TV screen.
Looking at her I said, “So Cas, was it who you thought it was that did it?”
“No,” she said, “I thought it was the husband, but it was the boyfriend and there was such a great twist in the story, thank you for letting me stay and watch to the end.”
As I had no idea what the movie was about, I just said, “Well that’s boyfriends for you,” smiling at her.
By now she had also finished her drink and as she seemed in no hurry to go home, I picked up her empty glass, tilting it towards her in a “want another?” sort of gesture and she simply said, “Please.”
I picked up another couple of cans from the refrigerator, filled our glasses and returned to the living room, giving one to her and sat back down, this time right beside her.
She had turned off the TV and we were sitting on the sofa together, comfortable and quite relaxed, side by side, shoes off, her legs stretched out with her feet on the coffee table.
“Well,” I said, teasing her, “now that you have seen in that movie how boyfriends behave, you will have to be careful who you choose.”
She didn’t respond, but a slight flush quickly spread up her cheeks.
Taking that as a cue, I asked “Do you already have a boyfriend?”
Quietly, without looking at me, she said, “Yes I have.”
There was a pause and then she said, “I didn’t want to ask until now, but I wondered whether in the future he could come around occasionally when I am babysitting, to keep me company and maybe do some college work together?”
I wasn’t too old to know what that meant or who had really initiated the request!
“Well I am not too sure about that,” I replied, “I think your mom assumes you are here on your own.”
She turned a disappointed face towards me and so I relented, telling her, “Alright, I guess it will be ok, as long as your priority is to make sure the children are looked after properly.” With a grin I added, “Oh, and I think it’s better if you don’t tell your mom, you might get me into trouble.”
She smiled at that and settled back into the sofa.
As we sat there sipping our beers, getting a bit cosy, I then teased her again by asking, “Is he a serious boyfriend, you know, ‘the one’?”
Blushing, she said, “I don’t know, I haven’t had many boyfriends yet and anyway, I don’t know how to tell.”
We then had a long discussion about how you feel if you love someone and want to be with them all the time, about how you feel tingling inside when you meet and miss them so much, even after only half a day, when they are not there.
She was gradually becoming a little less shy and talking more openly about herself and her boyfriend, who I discovered she had only been seeing for a few weeks.
She seemed less inhibited with talking now, so I asked her, “Does he ‘do things’ to you that made you feel good?”
Blushing an even deeper red and a bit quietly she said, “Sort of….”
“Do you mean kissing?” I probed.
“Yes, and a bit more.” she said.
“What do you mean by ‘a bit more’?”
“Well he sort of touches and strokes me as he is kissing me.” Cassandra replied hesitantly.
“Where does he stroke you?” I asked her, wondering içerenköy escort if I was pushing my questions too far, but a bit excited at discussing this with her.
She gestured to her breasts, so I asked her if she liked it. Very quietly she said she did…. I think she was embarrassed to be talking about it with me, but the alcohol was making her a bit less inhibited.
As I looked at her, I could see her face was very flushed and now there were two small pointy bits pushing outwards on her blouse that looked like they could be erect nipples. Feeling my cock stirring slightly at the thought of her becoming aroused by our conversation, I was in two minds as to where this might go if I pursued it further. Perhaps it might be a big disaster? Should I just cut it short and take her home? However, she still seemed in no hurry and was becoming more relaxed about talking, despite the outward shows her body was making.
Wanting to continue the intimacy, but wondering if she would answer me, or perhaps realise the conversation was getting too personal, I asked, “Does it feel the same as when other boys have paid attention to you and touched you like your boyfriend does?”
“I don’t really know,” she said. “Nothing much happened with the others.”
“Don’t worry, we all have to learn,” I said, as I put my left arm gently around her shoulders and gently pulled her over towards me, until her head was resting on my chest, so that I could softly stroke her hair with my hand. She gave no sign of objecting and seemed comfortable with this.
“Do you like having your hair stroked Cas?”
“Mmmm, it’s very relaxing,” she murmured, “I wish my boyfriend knew that it was a nice thing to do.
I continued to stroke and run my fingers through her hair and as she relaxed more and gained a bit more confidence, we chatted more about her boyfriend and the things she liked and disliked about him. While listening, I slowly moved my right hand over to stroke her neck and shoulder over her clothes and down her left arm, feeling her soft warm skin where her short sleeved blouse ended. I did this for a while; her head was warm against my chest; the fingers of my left hand were still combing gently through her hair. The combined smell of fresh shampoo and the lightly scented soap on her recently showered skin had made my heart beat a little faster and my cock start to rise more. I was full of indecision about whether I should be doing this. After all, the consequences if she decided I had gone too far and refused to babysit again, could be disastrous if the reason got out.
With my cock growing and my hormones moving around, I thought I would take it just a little bit further and if she objected, I could just say I was sorry and had gotten carried away. So the next time I stroked down, I moved my hand down over the front of her blouse and over her left breast.
“Does that feel the same as when your boyfriend does it?” I asked, expecting her to jump up and want to be taken home.
Instead, she said, “No, it feels good and less rough than when he does it, you are nice and gentle.”
Knowing I had gone further than I should, but she wasn’t objecting, I thought “what the hell,” so I let my fingers slowly rotate around her breast, moving into the centre where I thought I could feel a nipple through her clothes. Still meeting no objection, I moved across to her other breast and did the same and then for a few minutes, alternated between the two, feeling her breathing become slightly more rapid. Becoming bolder, I gently opened the top couple of buttons on her blouse, once again pausing to see if she was going to stop me and when she didn’t, I put my hand inside. My cock by now was fully erect inside my jeans and begging to be released.
I touched her bare skin above her breasts, then moved it down over her bra and gently cupped her left breast through it, confirming that indeed the nipple was hard. She had a fairly small, firm breast that fitted nicely into my hand and I could feel her hard nipple through her bra in the centre of my palm. I still wasn’t sure how far I should go, I was very nervous about it, but she seemed to be ok and I wasn’t thinking too far ahead, as happens in these sorts of circumstances! As I had on the outside, I moved to her right breast, cupping the bottom in my hand and letting my thumb stroke up and down over her bra-clad nipple. This movement had opened another button of her blouse and I could now clearly see both breasts covered only by her thin white cotton bra, her darker nipples showing through the material.
She cuddled closer to me as I massaged her breasts, so I slipped my hand inside the left hand side of her bra, flesh to flesh and found that hard-tipped nipple of hers. I then began to slowly roll it between my finger and thumb. Then alternately let my palm rub innovia escort over and around her nipple. This elicited gentle noises from her, so I knew that she was liking it. I could feel the tiny little bumps like goose pimples around her nipple as I gently rubbed and teased all round her breast. She turned her head upwards, closed her eyes and offered her lips, so I kissed her. As I gently nuzzled her lips with mine, first the upper one and then the lower, while all the time caressing the warm skin I was thinking, “This is going too far, you need to stop, but how to do so without upsetting her.”
I could see she was turned on and rejecting her might be another scenario. Anyway, my ‘cock brain’ had taken control I think, so with her nipples like hard nubs of rubber, I took my hand out of her blouse and stroked down her arm to where it rested on her bare legs and continued on, stroking her leg down to her knee. I trailed my hand up and down her soft, warm legs a few times to just where her skirt began and then back to her knee.
The next time I reached her skirt, I lifted the hem with my fingertips and moved my hand slowly upwards under her skirt, towards her thighs, alert for any reluctance.
If there was, then I would back off, but apart from a moment where her body stiffened for a moment, there was none. I continued to stroke up and down her thighs, giving her the opportunity to say stop or push me away, but she just kept kissing me and began nibbling my lips.
Eventually, as I stroked higher and higher under her skirt, my fingers brushed against the fabric of her panties and I felt the heat radiating from the cotton covered triangle between her legs. I gently explored them with my fingers, following the junction between panty leg and warm skin to her hip and back again. Her kissing became more forceful, so I licked her lips with my tongue a few times and then just pushed the tip inside her mouth.
Her legs, that had been demurely closed until now, spread themselves a little, allowing me the freedom to run my fingers over her panty covered mound, stroking gently up and down, feeling the springiness of her pubic hair pushing against the material and the dampness seeping through the light cotton. My remaining vestige of sensible thoughts told me not to remove them as, if I did, the temptation to try to fuck her would be too great and perhaps I would be in serious trouble later, so I moved my fingers under the elastic of her panty leg to touch her damp, soft, pubic hair and probing further, her very wet outer pussy lips.
Moving my now lubricated fingers up and down her slit made her squirm. Her breathing had quickened to soft panting and she kissed me back harder. When I came to her clit and rubbed it round and round with my slick finger, she brought her hand to the back of my head, pulled my face harder onto hers and really ‘went to town’ on my tongue, sucking on it and drawing it into her mouth and treating it like a small cock.
My own cock was rock-hard by now and I could feel the wetness from my pre-cum seeping into my own underwear. It was so hard and pushing against the front of my jeans that I was really tempted to take it out and see if she would let me put it inside her, but I wasn’t sure what her reaction might be and the imagined consequences only just about helped me to resist the temptation. Instead, I pulled the gusset of her damp panties aside and slowly buried my longest finger into her tight, but well lubricated, pussy as far as I could. I then slowly finger fucked her very wet hole and on every ‘in’ stroke I rubbed her clit with my thumb. Cassandra was breathing very fast, making quiet moaning noises as our tongues danced together in her mouth.
Her legs had opened wider, letting more of her intoxicating sexual perfume invade the room and weaken my resolve. I could feel the muscles inside her pussy alternately flexing and relaxing on my fingers and knew she was close to cumming. With all her juices now flowing I was able to slip a second finger in to join the first and although remaining gentle, I increased the pace of my fingers thrusting in and out of her pussy. Finally, I curled my fingers upwards on each ‘out’ stroke hoping I could find her most sensitive spot and satisfyingly I felt her start to orgasm, gripping my fingers with her vaginal muscles as she grunted and gasped her way through it, taking her lips away from mine and throwing her head back onto the sofa moaning so loudly that I thought she might wake up the children. I gradually stopped the in and out movements of my fingers and just held them deep inside her as she came back down from her climax. With reluctance, I pulled my fingers out of her hot pussy, shiny with her juices and perfumed with her sensual scent.
I put my arms round her and held her for a while, her head back on my chest.
When she had settled down and her breathing returned to normal, I was worried she might change her mind and say or do something that could cause me problems, but she just straightened her skirt and said maybe I should take her home now.
When I dropped her off at home, she kissed me lightly, looked me in the eyes, smiled and said goodnight, so I knew it was all ok.
The next time she babysat, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen…
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